Table for Two
by emma.likes.to.write
Summary: Ivan and Alfred get into a fight in school. The principal gives them two choices: to face suspension, or eat lunch together for a week. The choice they make changes their fate forever. (RusAme HighSchoolAU)
1. The Fight

**A/N: Writing prompt used: **

**"Imagine your OTP...**

**In school and get into a fight about something in the middle of the hallway. The school official (could be Person 3 of OT3) breaks them up, and forces them to either sit together at a small table during lunch, or get suspended."**

**\- From Tumblr **

**Even though RusAme isn't technically my OTP, (GerIta is) I thought this prompt fit best with these two. I've never really shipped this before, but I've been swayed by fan art XD. So I'm deciding to experiment by writing about this pairing. :)**

**Enjoy the first chapter!**

••••••••

**_The Fight_**

"Weirdo!"

"Freak!"

"Loser!"

"Communist!"

"Mafia member!"

Ivan gritted his teeth as he trudged through the hallway, with Alfred trailing behind him, hurling insults at him, like a dumbfounded lost puppy, only much, much meaner.

He opened his locker and shoved his books aside. Why did Alfred like to pick on him so much? He never did anything to him. At least, not that he could recall. He'd been going at Ivan's throat since kindergarten, so it was unlikely Ivan would remember if he did anything to set Alfred off.

Well, either way, today he wouldn't have let Alfred have the last word.

"Shut up."

The hallway became dead silent. Alfred, his dumb little posse, the other students, all became dead silent.

Alfred laughed. Bitterly. "_What _did you just say to me?"

"I said," Ivan repeated, teeth now gritted, staring straight into the eyes of his opponent, "Shut up."

Alfred sneered. "Why don't you make me?"

In an instant, without even thinking, Ivan went up close to Alfred and slammed the books he was carrying down to the floor. Some students gasped, others laughed. As for Alfred, he looked shocked, and his mouth gaped open. Good.

Alfred wasn't going to let this go unscathed. He swiftly punched Ivan straight in the gut without a second thought.

Ivan doubled back for an instant, clutching his now-aching stomach, but only for an instant. His large fist came into contact with Alfred's jaw.

This escalated to the point where the two began to brawl, beating each other into pulps, if they allowed the fight to get that far. But they didn't; someone had ran to get a teacher, who rushed to get the principal.

"What is going on here?" Boomed the voice of Mr. Green, the school principal.

_Oh shit, _both the boys thought, but for different reasons. Ivan would for sure get into trouble; he'd never gotten into trouble at school before. _What would Mama think? And Pa? _he thought anxiously. Alfred was aghast; he couldn't get suspended _again. _His mom and stepdad would _kill _him.

Either way, they were both separated by the principal and practically dragged into his office. They were both injured, but not too seriously; Ivan's nose was bleeding, and Alfred's glasses were broken. Both had cuts and developing bruises. And, of course, Ivan would have to get his stomach check, and Alfred his teeth.

"You two, are in _big trouble," _Mr. Green huffed.

Both boys gulped, fearing what was to come.

••••••••

"Boys, I've decided how I'm going to carry out the punishment."

Ivan and Alfred both perked up.

Mr. Green took a deep breath. "This can either go one of two ways."

_One of two ways? _Alfred thought as he raised an eyebrow. Mr. Green had never suggested such a thing before. It was either suspension, in-school suspension, or detention, no if, ands, or buts about it. There were never two options. He looked over at Ivan to see how he was taking this. The Russian boy refused to meet his eye.

"I've decided...since Alfred gets into trouble so much..."

_Jeez, thanks for remindin' me, dude! _Alfred thought bitterly. He knew Trouble was his middle name. He couldn't smell it, hear it, or see it coming, but Trouble was always there; an unwanted friend, an annoying sidekick. Wherever he went, Trouble seemed to follow.

"...and Ivan rarely gets into trouble, I've decided to give you guys two options."

Mr. Green continued. "Alfred, you and Ivan have to decide together, either to each take a separate suspension, or sit together at lunch for a week."

"_WHAT?!" _Alfred shrieked, immediately jumping from his seat. "I have to eat lunch with _this _loser?" He pointed at Ivan. He didn't see it, but the Russian glared at him with dagger-eyes that could kill.

"Alfred, do not call another student a 'loser,'" Mr. Green swiftly reprimanded. "And yes...you two can either decide on that, or the suspension. Whichever you choose."

"But...I can't get suspended...not again," Alfred said with a solemn tone, sitting back down slowly, looking over to Ivan to see if he agreed. This time his violet eyes met with his sky blue ones.

"I can't either," Ivan said, still slightly glaring at Alfred.

"So it's settled," Mr. Green confirmed, slamming his palms down on the table, then standing up. "You two will each lunch at a table I will assign to you in the cafeteria for a week starting on Monday. If I see the need to, I will extent that week. I will not notify either of your parents of the punishment, unless you guys do anything to change my mind. Got it?"

The two boys nodded. Mr. Green dismissed them to their classes.

Ivan and Alfred walked their separate ways, wondering how they were going to survive the following week.

••••••••

"_Sacre bleu, _Alfred, what's wrong with you?"

Alfred looked up at his group of friends. Concern was written on their faces. They were all walking home from school, as they normally did; they had been chatting happily until they turned back and saw Alfred was lingering behind, a solemn look on his face.

He adjusted his back up glasses. "I have to sit with stupid Ivan during lunch next week," he complained gruffly. He kicked a pebble angrily.

"Uh. I feel bad for you. Having to eat lunch, with that creep Ivan, for an entire _week?" _Francis shivered a bit, perhaps at the prospect.

"Why didn't you just take the suspension?" Gilbert asked.

"Are you kidding me?" Alfred screeched. "I can't get suspended _again!" _

"I would rather get suspended than eat lunch with Ivan _any day," _Mathias said.

"Tell me about it," Alfred muttered gruffly.

"Hey, tell you what," Antonio offered, reaching back and putting a comforting hand on Alfred's shoulder. "How about I take you out for a treat? Let's go to my dad's pizzeria to cheer you up. I'll pay."

As the other guys cheered, Alfred smiled at his Spanish friend. "That does sound good. Thanks, A."

"No problem, _amigo." _

Alfred felt his heart lift and the weight on top of his shoulders drop as they headed for the pizza place. He thought about how lucky he was to have such good friends. People thought him and his friends were just a bunch of annoying, obnoxious jocks who only cared about sports, gossip and getting chicks (and guys), but that really wasn't the case. If people actually talked to them like real people, and stopped judging them, and hung out with them, they would see that his buddies really weren't such bad guys.

However, his thoughts drifting back to Ivan when he sat down in the large booth with his friends. He laid his fist against his cheek musingly. How was he going to even _survive _the week? Especially without his buddies there to back him up? When the pizza arrived, the group smiled and said thank you to the waiter.

Alfred took a slice and shoved half of it into his mouth, deciding the best way to solve problems was to eat.

••••••••

Ivan felt, to pardon his French, like shit the whole way home.

His sister, Natalya, had grown concerned seeing his solemn expression and tugged on his shirttail the entire walk. "Ivan," she had pleaded, "what's wrong? You better tell me, Ivan."

_Nothing, Natalya. I just have to eat lunch with the biggest asshole in the school for an entire week straight. Nothing much. _

When he finally got home, he raced up to his room, threw his book bag in a random direction, and slammed on his bed.

He heard a knock on the door, and then a voice. "Ivan?" It was his mother. "You ran up to your room rather rapidly. Is everything alright?" She poked her head in.

_Oh crap. Mama. _"Yes, Mama," he lied.

She came over to sit on the edge of his bed. "Are you sure?" She reached over and smoothed the bangs back from his forehead with her gentle hand. "You look exhausted."

Ivan so wanted to break down and tell his mother everything. He hated lying to her, but he had to; if he didn't, he would have to mention that he got punished. "I'm sure. I'm just...tired."

She continued to ruffle his hair. He swallowed. "I may take a nap, Mama."

"That sounds good," she said, kissing his forehead. "Sweet dreams, Ivan."

He turned away to avoid his mother's gaze. If he didn't, he might've started to cry.

She finally exited the room.

Now Ivan could breathe.

He slammed his face down on his pillow. He hated lying! Especially to someone so nice and caring, like his mother, someone who had told him time and time again he could tell anything to. But...he didn't know what she would've done if he told her and got into a fight. _Oh well, _he sighed, pulling the covers over his body and putting his head in a more comfortable position.

He turned his lamp off and closed his eyes, deciding the best way to solve problems was to sleep.

••••••••

**I know, this was pretty short, but it was meant to be sort of like a prologue. **

**More to come soon!** **:)**


	2. Day 1 - Monday

**_Day 1 - Monday_**

Alfred carried his tray over to where Ivan and Mr. Green were standing. Ivan had packed his lunch; he held the paper sack in his hands containing his food.

"Now, let me direct you to the table you'll be sitting at," Mr. Green said. In the cafeteria, he lead the boys to a small round table right under the big clock in the center of the room. "This is where you'll be eating," he said lightheartedly, as if this was going to be fun for the boys. _Well, it's not, _Alfred thought bitterly. This was going to be the worst week of his life. He just knew it.

When the principal finally left the two boys alone, they sat down. Ivan began to unpack his lunch bag, while Alfred began to dig into his food.

Ivan looked over at Alfred, a disgusted sneer on his face. "You eat like a pig," he snarled.

Alfred looked up, and sneered right back. "Well, you look like one, so I guess that makes us even."

"You don't look any less like one."

"You're a fatass."

"Idiot."

"Communist."

"Brat."

"Big nose."

"Retard."

"Ugly giant."

"Obese hog."

Alfred pulled back, stung. He looked at Ivan, glaring at him. His violet eyes seemed to have fiery flames engulfed in them. He looked...pretty terrifying, actually. Alfred sighed, closed his eyes, and slumped his shoulders. He then reopened his eyes, and said with sudden compassion and insight that surprised even himself: "You know, we don't have to make this miserable for us."

Ivan raised an eyebrow, still glaring. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Alfred began, planting his elbows on the table and placed his left hand, which was now balled into a fist, in his right, "we don't have to just spend this whole week hurling insults at each other. Let's just...not talk to each other the whole time. Or at least stop going at each other's throats. We can both agree this is already miserable enough, so let's not make it any more than it has to be."

"I...guess," Ivan said, hunching over in his seat, genuinely surprised by the boy's attitude.

"Deal?" Alfred asked. He offered his hand for Ivan to shake.

He replied with "deal", but he didn't shake Alfred's hand.

At this agreement, the two just stared into space for a while, and Alfred began to drum his fingers on the table. After a while, he pulled out his large iPhone and began to scroll through his social medias.

Ivan pulled out his phone too, but it was not a big, expensive iPhone, but an Android. He put in his earbuds and began to listen to some music as he opened his sketchbook and took out some pencils to begin drawing.

Alfred realized that his group of friends were sitting right behind them, and he turned back to give them a funny look after they tagged him in a post. It was of that party they went to about a week ago; it was where they first tasted alcohol, and they'd all gotten a little drunk.

And, as he was looking at them, just for the heck of it, Alfred pointed silently and jokingly at Ivan, who had his head down, and gave him the finger. His group of friends hooted with laughter.

He continued to give Ivan the finger, first with one hand then with both, and made stupid faces at him. His friends kept on howling, until suddenly their faces grew wide with fear, and they began to grimace. They pointed behind Alfred, who let out a verbal, "what?" and glanced over to what they were pointing at.

Or rather..._who _they pointed at. It was Ivan. He had his head up now, and his earbuds were still in. He had stopped mid-sketch to stare, no, glare, at Alfred. _Oh, shit, he must've seen, _Alfred thought, letting out a nervous laugh. "Hey...buddy..." Alfred squeaked out hesitantly, causing his group of friends to laugh at him, being so awkward, and knowing he was probably dead meat.

"I thought we made an agreement," Ivan growled, taking out his earbuds. His voice seemed to have dropped multiple octaves.

"I didn't know that agreement would mean you'd still flick me off behind my back," he continued. His face looked deadly, but Alfred caught something else expressed, in his eyes...was it...sadness? Had he legitimately hurt Ivan's feelings? Why hadn't he noticed that look on the Russian's face before?

Alfred darted his eyes nervously around. "Yeah...I guess it doesn't." When he heard Ivan grunt, he quickly added, "I won't do it again, promise. My lips are sealed..." he pretended to zip up his lips with his fingers, "...and my hands are tied," he put his hands behind his back and locked his wrists together, as if he were in handcuffs.

To Alfred's surprise, Ivan didn't say anything else, just shook his head mockingly and continued to draw. Alfred watched him for a minute, then pulled his phone back out.

Eventually, scrolling through your phone for too long strains your eyes, and gets pretty boring, so after a while Alfred put his phone down and began to do something that surprised even himself: watched Ivan draw. Really watched him. He drew with immense skill; his pencil barely grazed the paper as he did so. He only stopped every few minutes to eat a bite of food, or take a sip of juice. Alfred would never believe that such a large hand could look so...gentle, but Ivan actuallly pulled it off. What was even more peculiar was _what _he was drawing: Alfred cocked his head to the side to see what it was. It was...a flower. A sunflower, he thought.

It was legitimately a very good drawing, and since Alfred was feeling quite nice and willing to be liberal today, he said, quiet enough so his friends wouldn't hear and get up on his ass about it later: "That's a really nice drawing...what is it, a sunflower?"

Ivan looked up and raised his eyebrows, pursing his lips, and took out his earbuds. "What?"

"I said, 'that's a nice drawing.' Is it a sunflower?"

Ivan looked up a little surprised. Then he remembered his better judgement and scowled, refusing to answer Alfred.

This pissed Alfred off a bit (he was just trying to be nice to the stinkin' guy!) but he didn't let his temper get the better of him. Not yet. "Do you like sunflowers?"

The scowl on Ivan's face grew even bigger. _Fine. He wants to play it _that _way, _Alfred thought. He sighed annoyedly, heavily. "Fine! See if I ever try to be nice to _you _again," he said.

Just then, the bell rang, signaling the end of the lunch period. _Thank God, I'm finally out of hell, _Alfred thought, then chuckled a bit when he realized how ironic that sentence was. But seriously; lunch was actually _hell _today. Usually he loved lunch time; he got to see his friends, be goofy, _eat, _(even though sometimes the school food wasn't something a man nor animal should be able to consume) but today, it was hell.

_And it's probably only gonna get worse._

••••••••

The next period, Ivan was in science class. He didn't pay attention to what the teacher was yapping about; he just stared at his sunflower sketch Alfred had complimented. It _was _pretty good...certainly not the best he'd ever done, but it was a nice drawing nonetheless.

Ivan smoothed back his bangs self-consciously, though no one was staring at him. No one had ever complimented him on one of his drawings before. It felt...good, actually. He didn't have a lot of friends, and he'd always been too embarrassed to show his drawings to his family...so it was weird to him that the one person in the world who Ivan thought hated him the most was actually the first one to compliment him. Or rather, his sunflower drawing.

He smiled a bit. Sunflowers were indeed his favorite flower; he never saw one in person, growing naturally, but he'd always wanted to. That's why he started drawing them; having a drawing of a sunflower was a little like having a real one. Certainly not a _lot _like having a real one, but it was close enough. In fact, he somewhat regretted his harsh reaction when Alfred had said he'd liked the drawing. And most likely he would never get a compliment from him again, based on what he said: _Fine! See if I ever try to be nice to _you _again._

But...then all the nice things Alfred had done came back into Ivan's mind; he ignored the fact that the boy had given him the finger, called him a fatass, Communist, big nose, and ugly giant. Alfred had spoken kindly to him. Offered his hand to shake. He never apologized for the flicking-off, but he did say he'd never do it again. Ivan wished he had just opened up to Alfred, instead of just glaring at him the whole time. The boy _was _trying to be civil with him, at least.

Ivan sighed, and closed the sketchbook. He wished he had better people-skills. Maybe then he'd have more friends, more of a social life. Maybe he'd be less of a loser.

He stared blankly at the teacher, and the Smartboard, to rid his mind of his self-deprecating thoughts.


	3. Day 2 - Tuesday

**Wow—I can say I'm honestly surprised at the support this story is starting to get (even though it only has 6 follows and 5 reviews at this time—that's still a lot for me :P) I just wanted to say thank you so much. This is why I started writing on here in the first place—I wanted to see how people thought about my writing, and to get out of my shell :) So thank you so much for being supportive—it goes a long way, and I really appreciate it :) **

**Just a little heads up for this chapter: there are hints of GerIta and...kind of AmeriPan. IDK. You'll see.**

**Anyways, enjoy, of course! **

••••••••

**_Day 2 - Tuesday_**

Ivan strolled into the lunch room. Once there, he scanned the room for the table he was assigned. Sure enough, when he looked towards that direction, Alfred was already sitting down, eating.

A bit reluctantly, Ivan sat across from him, as he did the day before. Alfred stared at him for a few minutes before letting out a little, "Hey..."

This startled Ivan a little bit, but then he remembered his thoughts the day before, of being more civil and people-friendly, so it took all of his might to say "hi" back to him.

That was all Alfred said for a while, though, because then he took out his phone and began to scroll through it. Ivan could see a little bit of the reflection in his glasses. Ivan slumped back in his seat, content, but for some reason, he didn't take out his usual lunch materials: his phone, his earbuds, his sketchbook and his pencils. He just stared at Alfred.

It _was _nice to have some decent company during lunch, Ivan reasoned. Even if it was silent company, and the company of the boy who'd bullied him since kindergarten, but Ivan could see he was lightening up, or at least trying to. Ivan never really had any good friends to sit at lunch with; he always sat by Yao, but, even if the Chinese boy did talk to him at first, he never paid much attention to him, which always lead Ivan to either sit next to him awkwardly as he chatted with someone else, or scoot to the other end of the table, and just eat alone. Ivan never really felt welcome when sitting with Yao, even if they were "friends". And, even though Alfred was certainly not a friend, even a quote unquote one, he was nice company, Ivan could admit that readily.

Letting out a little sigh, Alfred ditched his phone to stare blankly by Ivan. Since it would be awkward for two people to just stare at each other without just reason, Ivan timidly and gingerly began paying attention to his food, and removed the items his mother had packed him in his lunch bag. A sandwich. An apple. A bag of chips. And, much to Ivan's delight, some of her delicious, homemade cookies. His mouth immediately began to water once he saw them, and, ditching his other foods, began to chow down on them.

He was interrupted by none other than Alfred, however: "Damn, those cookies look good as fuck! Did _you _make them?"

Ivan just looked at Alfred again, intrigued once more by this strange moment of compassion. He swallowed. "Um, no. My mother made them for me."

And, though he thought for a small instant that Alfred would start taunting him as he always did before, calling him a "mama's boy" or "pig", he repaid Alfred's compassion with some of his own: handing him a cookie. "You can try one, if you like."

Alfred's eyes seemed to bulge out of his skull; this miffed Ivan a bit. _Jeez, he doesn't have to look so shocked. All I asked was if he wanted a cookie. It's not like I asked him to be my best friend... _"Um...okay!" Alfred said, and he took one and chowed down on it with a huge bite. "Wow!" Alfred muffled, not even bothering to cover his mouth with the back of his hand, "These are good!"

He swallowed. "You need to tell your mom to make me a batch of these on the double!" Alfred joked.

Okay, now Ivan was starting to get annoyed. "That's unlikely," he said a bit coldly, his voice slightly raspy.

Alfred just stared at him, open mouthed for a minute, and then he bursted out laughing; he must've thought Ivan was joking. At much as Ivan hated to admit it, the boy's laughter was highly contagious, and he found himself chuckling too, even though he did _not _intend for what he just said to be a joke.

Ivan looked over Alfred's shoulder, and saw that his stupid group of jock friends were staring at the two of them incredulously, eyes wide, and some with sneers of disgust on their faces. Ivan could only imagine what they were thinking: _ew, why is Alfred handing out with that loser Ivan, and actually _laughing _with him? _Or that creep Ivan, or that weirdo Ivan, or whatever else they liked to call him. He hated all the jock kids so much; they were all stupid, annoying, loud, and they all caused more unwanted, useless drama than a middle-school girl. But...in some ways Ivan had to admire and envy them too; they all had no problems at picking up girls, or guys, and they were all favored by the teachers. They all had tons of friends, were all extremely well-liked and charming, were popular and handsome. All the things Ivan wasn't. Not too long ago, Ivan would have said Alfred was the one he hated most of all. Now, though...

"What are you—" Alfred asked, snapping Ivan out of his thoughts. He must've been glaring at them. Alfred turned to look over at his friends, then turned back to Ivan, who saw that his face was red.

"Your stupid friends," Ivan grunted.

Alfred immediately became defensive. "They're not stupid," he said. "They're my friends, and they're actually really good guys." When Ivan snorted, he added, "I'm serious."

"Not to me they aren't," Ivan retorted, suddenly growing sad again.

Alfred just sighed.

Ivan could have punched him right then and there.

Alfred grew a forlorn look on his face and glanced over to study someone at a nearby table.

"Who're you looking at?" Ivan asked.

"Kiku."

"...How's your relationship with him going?" He knew Alfred had been dating the boy for sometime now.

"We're not dating anymore." Alfred said solemnly.

Ivan's eyes got wide. Oh, okay; guess they _weren't _dating, then. This came as a surprise to him; Alfred and Kiku had been the most popular, well-liked couple in the school. It was the perfect best-friend-turned-lover story.

"What happened?" Ivan asked, genuinely curious.

"I...don't like to talk about it."

The two sat silently for a few minutes in another awkward break of silence. Ivan wondered if he should say something, comforting perhaps—but before he could decide the loud bell let out a ring.

The two boys left. Ivan felt a little solemn. Though this time the lunch period didn't end with Alfred getting snarky with him, it _did _end pretty roughly, and that made him feel a bit sad.

Alfred had just begun to walk to his next classroom, until he remembered he had to pick up a Final Form in the office for baseball. He did so, and as he did, he looked towards the stack of school newspapers now for sale—new and fresh, they had just gotten published yesterday. He was about to pick one up, see if he or any of the other guys on his sports teams made the headlines. But, instead, what he saw made his eyes grow wide as dinner plates.

"Oh. No. They. Didn't."

••••••••

Alfred stormed into the library, where the Newspaper club met after school. He'd waited to ambush them all at once at 3:00 when the school day was done, though it had been an angry, long, anxious wait. Luckily, those three little douchebags were all there—Ludwig, Feliciano, and _Kiku. _They all turned to stare at Alfred as he stormed in. Furious and red-faced, he waved the newest edition of the school newspaper in their faces. "You three better have a good fucking explanation for this," he snarled.

The newspaper-writing trio all stared at the headline they'd just put in yesterday:

**IVAN BRAGINSKY PLUS ALFRED JONES EQUALS LOVE???**

Below it was a picture taken of Ivan and Alfred, eating lunch together at their small, circular table. The person who took it—whichever one of the three it was—had managed to get a shot of them while they were talking to one another.

Ludwig frowned. "Alfred, we didn't—"

"What? You didn't what?" Alfred tried to sound threatening, but the truth was the burly Ludwig intimidated him a bit; he was his buddy Gilbert's younger brother, but he didn't look like it at all. He was taller, more muscular, and stronger than Gilbert, with slicked-back blonde hair and icy blue eyes. Alfred had to be cautious, lest he got on the German's bad side.

"Ve~ it wasn't meant to be serious," Feliciano squeaked, standing close by Ludwig, his arm wrapped around him. Alfred rolled his eyes. This kid was such a wuss. He wondered if he and Ludwig were dating; he didn't keep up with freshmen drama (unless it had to do with Kiku, of course) so he didn't know. It sure looked like they were, though.

Alfred sighed heavily, and clicked his tongue angrily. He shifted his weight from his right foot to his left. "I don't give a fuck what it was meant for, to get a rise out of me, to spread gossip, or to get your little asses popular—I don't give a flying fuck. But, me and Ivan are not. Fucking. Dating. And I want this taken down immediately. Right now." Alfred darted his finger from one of them to the other. "Now which one of you little assholes was in charge of this?" He pointed at the headline on the newspaper.

Ludwig and Feliciano both slowly turned their heads to look at Kiku, who was standing on their other side. Kiku looked back at them, then at Alfred. He raised his shoulders a bit. "I was," he said quite boldly. "It was a last minute edition..."

_"A last minute edition?!!" _Alfred could have screamed, he was so angry. A last minute edition; that meant it was so close to not even being in the newspaper.

Alfred put his hand on his hip, a sneer crossing his face, and very slowly sauntered over to Kiku, to tower above him. "Huh. So I see how you are. You don't have the balls to tell me to my face you hate me, so instead you do—" he waved the newspaper in the small Japanese boy's face, "—this to get back at me."

"I know your type, Kiku," Alfred continued. "You're so pissed off we broke up, so pissed off I _cheated _on you with that stupid cheerleader, you get back at me like this. Huh. That's good to know," he smiled mockingly and waved the newspaper once more in his face. He walked away to once again face all three.

"I want this taken down _immediately," _Alfred said harshly, "And I wanna _watch _you guys do it."

To Alfred's surprise, it was Feliciano who spoke up. "But it's already been published. We can't just...take it down."

"Well, I don't care. Because you better," Alfred retorted. "I better not see any more of this newspaper tomorrow, _or else." _

Feliciano began to tremble, and he buried his face in Ludwig's chest. Alfred directed his anger at Kiku once more. "And Kiku...needs to stop being a jealous, stubborn little wuss, and remake the headline—because this isn't gonna cut it!" He waved the newspaper in anger once more.

"Jealous?" Ludwig said tentatively, raising an eyebrow. "So you and Ivan _are _dating." He stated this bluntly.

Alfred felt his face grow a bit red, though he hoped it didn't show. "No! Of course not!" he retorted to Ludwig, as if he had asked if cats could fly.

"You know what, whatever," Alfred said, finally throwing the towel in, and moving his hands in a sort of _cut it out _type of motion. "Even if me and Ivan _were _dating, which of course we are not—" Alfred paused to gag a bit, "—this still wouldn't be right. It's a violation of privacy. You guys'll get in big trouble if I tell Mr. Green."

This immediately caused Feliciano to freak out. "N-no! Please don't tell him, okay? Okay? We'll redo the headline, promise! All of us!" Alfred couldn't help but crack a smile; this kid was such a goody-two shoes. Like Ivan. Exactly the opposite of himself.

"Okay," Alfred said, cracking his knuckles. "But I _have _to watch you do it."

"Deal!" Feliciano immediately shouted.

So, that's exactly what they did. Alfred hovered over the three of them, on their computers, and watched them as they did their thing. Soon, the headline was erased, and Kiku sent it down to be published, much to the confusion of Mrs. Lewis, the head of the Newspaper club. "It's...kind of important," Kiku had explained to her.

Now satisfied, Alfred began to walk out the library doors. Before he did, however, he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. He turned his head, and saw it was none other than Kiku. The Japanese boy looked up at his former boyfriend, his honey-brown eyes seemingly bigger than ever. "Hey, Alfred..." he began, but then faltered and shook his head. "Actually, never mind." He walked away rather quickly.

Alfred raised an eyebrow, and headed out the door. _Weirdo, _he thought.

He began to make his way back home once he walked out of his high school doors for the day. He'd texted his mom to let her know he'd be back soon. He was still kinda miffed about the whole thing; why would Kiku do something like that? Alfred at first just chalked it up to him being an asshole...but, that wasn't like Kiku. Even though he _was _Alfred's ex.

His thoughts drifted to Ivan, and how their relationship was changing so fast, but so suddenly. He did bully Ivan. Even though Alfred didn't like to think of himself as a bully, he realized now he was one...or is. He used to put sand in a pail and pour it down Ivan's shorts while they were playing in the sandbox in kindergarten. He ripped up Ivan's homework in third grade. He smashed Ivan's face in the water fountain while the boy was trying to take a drink of water in sixth grade. And, last year, in history class, when they sat next to each other, Alfred had flicked his finger in Ivan's face while the teacher had her back turned. Petty, childish things, sure, but Alfred couldn't erase Ivan's face from his brain after he had done those things; his face had reflected hurt, sadness, shame. Alfred had never paid attention at the time (he didn't really want to or felt the need to) but since the fight, he'd begun to reflect more on his own actions, and how they made Ivan feel.

Multiple questions went through Alfred's head, about today, yesterday, and perhaps tomorrow. Questions about Kiku, questions about Ivan; why had Kiku acted so strangely, and why did he write that headline? (Alfred knew it wasn't just Kiku's way of getting back at him. He just knew.) What did Kiku almost say to him in the library? What did Ivan think about Alfred? How did _he _truly think of Ivan?

_...Was _he really starting to like Ivan? Not like, _like _like him, (or at least he prayed to God not) but in the least, as a friend?

_That _was a question to keep Alfred tossing and turning at night.


	4. Day 3 - Wednesday

**_Day 3 - Wednesday_**

The next day at lunch started off quietly enough. Alfred and Ivan didn't really talk to each other at first, just ate silently and glued their eyes to their technology. Alfred scanned the room, studied the cafeteria, until his eyes came across someone that made him smile and go pink in the cheeks. Natalya.

She was sitting at a round, small table all by herself, her platinum blonde hair fanning out beautifully onto her back. When she turned, Alfred could see the side-view of her wonderfully-proportioned profile and he smiled even harder. She was beautiful, with her long hair, dark blue eyes, full lips, oval-shaped face...good-looking in a different way than Kiku. His buddies teased him for liking her, one, because she was an 8th grader (in their school district, the middle school and high school were combined) and two, she was so stoic and cold, and a bit of a loner, but Alfred didn't care. He wistfully began to think of what kind of kisser she'd be...

"Gawking at my little sister, I see?"

Alfred jumped a bit at the sound of Ivan, who had a sly, kind of...maniacal smile. Alfred immediately grew red.

"What? No!" He sighed. "I'm...looking at Natalya," he blushed slightly, and took a sip of juice.

"Natalya IS my sister."

Alfred nearly spit out his juice. Oh—_oh. _He face grew even redder and he chuckled nervously, becoming defensive. "I mean...I don't like her or anything! I was just...looking at her! No reason at all!"

Ivan rolled his eyes, but Alfred saw a tiny smirk cross his face.

He had no clue that Ivan and Natalya were siblings, and he would have never guessed. _Well, come to think of it, actually... _Alfred thought on second; they _did _look alike, and they were both a bit creepy, and intimidating. _It must run in the family, _Alfred concluded.

"I mean—I wasn't planning on asking her _out _or anything," Alfred lied, chuckling again nervously.

"Good," Ivan said coldly, making Alfred recoil a bit. _He's really overprotective of his sister, I guess... _

"Once she found out how you treated me, she'd never want to date you, anyway," Ivan said.

"What?" Alfred said, "How would _you _know who your sister would and wouldn't wanna date?"

"Believe me, I just know."

"Oh-_kaaaay..." _Alfred was starting to get a little creeped out.

In truth, Ivan _did _kind of wish his little sister would get a boyfriend, or at least some good friends. She hung around him all the time at him, and never got away from him; though she was nice company sometimes, she annoyed him quite a lot too. He wished his little sister had something better to do, something to fill up her time. But...she seemed totally fixated on her elder brother, which always managed to creep him out a bit...

Ivan shook his head to rid it of his thoughts, and redirected his attention to Alfred. "On second thought," he began, "she _should _have a boyfriend, maybe. It would get her out of my hair. You can...ask her out, anytime, if you want."

"Really?" Alfred asked, trying to mask the excitement in his voice. "Gee...thanks man."

"No problem," Ivan said. "But...if you dare make her cry, or break her heart one time, you won't get away unscathed."

Ivan's tone was so deadpanned and serious Alfred thought he was joking, and began to laugh. However when he looked back up at his companion he saw he was doing anything _but _laughing. He immediately faltered.

"I won't, dude," Alfred insisted, "it's your little sis. I get it."

Ivan cocked his eyebrow curiously. "Do _you _have any siblings, Alfred?"

"One," he replied, holding up a finger. "His name's Matthew...he's in the same grade as Natalya, actually."

"Oh," Ivan said. "I have another sister, an older one, Katyusha."

"Oh?" Alfred didn't recognize the name, and he knew most of the upperclassmen; she must've already graduated.

"Anyway," Ivan continued, "don't get too upset if Natalya rejects you...she probably will, knowing her." He was smiling.

Alfred's face became red. "She won't!" Alfred insisted vehemently. "I'll be the best boyfriend ever!" Though he didn't know that for sure. _I wasn't for Kiku... _he thought solemnly.

"Yes, she will."

"She won't!"

"Yes, she will; trust me, I know my sister."

"I know her, too! I've known her since she was in, like, sixth grade! And I know she'd like me!"

"Hmmm...well, I've only known her for over a decade, so..."

Suddenly the two bursted out laughing. This time, Alfred didn't care what his friends were thinking, or what anyone was thinking. He was having fun. At lunch. With Ivan.

Ivan took a few moments to catch his breath. Alfred didn't think he'd ever seen the big guy smile so widely, and laugh so genuinely. "Anyway," he began, with a bit of a sadder tone, "I know what unrequited love feels like."

Alfred thought he'd meant for this to be another joke, but he didn't hear Ivan laughing. When he looked up he saw him wistfully staring at a nearby table.

Alfred was taken aback. "Why...who do you like?"

Ivan began to blush heavily. "You know Yao Wang?"

Alfred nodded. "The Chinese kid?" He looked where Ivan was looking; Yao was sitting with a group of his friends, his long brown ponytail flopping and swooshing every-which-way as he turned his head.

Alfred smiled at Ivan. "Awww...you two would make a cute couple!"

Ivan swallowed. "You really think so?"

"Yeah! You should totally ask him out!"

The Russian fidgeted, and glanced down nervously. "I don't know...I don't think he likes me."

"Have you ever asked him?"

"Well, no..."

"Well, you can't know for sure unless you do, dude!" Alfred smiled, and reached over to pat Ivan's shoulder comfortingly. "C'mon, you can do it! I'm right here."

Ivan took one more tentative, daring look at Yao, and then gave Alfred a small smile. "Okay."

For a minute, Alfred wondered what he was doing as he watched Ivan fix his hair with his hand and walk nervously towards Yao. This was _Ivan Braginsky: _the loser, the freak, the communist, and yet...Alfred was helping him score a date. However, he just smiled. _Well, Al, you may just be a bit of a matchmaker... _

He watched Yao turn his head to look up at Ivan, whom Alfred could see was extremely nervous; even the back of his pale neck was blotched red. He saw Yao's eyebrows furrow, and began to speak to Ivan, quite harshly, from what Alfred could make out. He continued like this for a few minutes until he finally shooed Ivan away, and turned back to eat his food. The tall boy slowly turned back, and headed towards his table. His face was the epitome of sadness and disappointment; his lower lip was pouted just slightly, and his brows were scrunched together. He sat back down at the table.

"Awww..." Alfred said, not in a mocking way, but a sympathetic way, "didn't go so good, did it?"

To his surprise, Ivan grew hostile with him. "No. It didn't. And it's your fault."

Alfred was going to retort back, _how the hell is it my fault?, _but he knew how. He had convinced Ivan to ask out Yao; he should have known what the two's relationship was like before he did so. Still, he didn't think it was his fault, (it was Yao's choice to reject Ivan, not Alfred's) and he tried to tell Ivan this. "Ivan..."

"Shut up," the Russian boy growled. "Don't talk to me." He raised his gaze from the table to Alfred's eyes, glaring at the boy, much like he had done that very first day they ate lunch together. "And I mean it this time." He cut eye contact with Alfred all together, and stared down at his food.

Alfred sighed, but he obeyed Ivan's command. The boy was really starting to scare him, and he didn't want to get into another fight (if he did, he would _surely _get suspended again; there would be no doubt about it). He just watched Ivan eat. Though he was big, he ate rather daintily; he mouth barely grazed the fork as he took a bite. _How could I have ever thought he was a pig? He eats less than I do... _Alfred thought, as he glanced warily at his own tray; pizza, fries, ice cream, chips, apple juice, and soda stared back up at him.

The bell rang, and Alfred threw away his food and got out of that cafeteria as quickly as possible, to avoid Ivan's death glare, but also to avoid Yao; perhaps he knew it was Alfred who had convinced Ivan to ask him out.

_That really wasn't right how he rejected Ivan so harshly like that... _Alfred mused, and scrunched his brows together. No one deserved to get treated like that, even Ivan. If you had to let someone down, Alfred thought, you should at least do it gently. Someone should teach Yao a lesson. _Yao isn't even dating anyone. And I know he dates guys. _And, in truth, Ivan wouldn't be _that _bad of a kid to date. Sure, he was a bit of a loser, and kind of creepy, and almost freakishly tall, but he was funny, smart enough, nice enough, and rather quiet, and a good listener.

_Ugh, what am I thinking??? _Alfred thought. He physically slammed his fists into the side of his head, causing a few other students to stare at him weirdly in the hallways. _I hate Ivan. _

He repeated this over and over in his head, like a mantra, to try to get it through. Something that should've been so easy, but for some reason...it wasn't.

_I hate Ivan. I hate Ivan. I hate Ivan._

No matter how hard Alfred tried, he couldn't believe this simple three-word phrase.

••••••••

Ivan felt horrible the whole rest of the day.

All in the halls, and in class, he had gotten dirty looks from Yao. At first he tried to convince himself it was all Alfred's fault, but as the day went on he placed the blame on himself; how could he have been so stupid, and think that Yao would actually go out with him? Yao didn't like him—and though that was a hard pill to swallow, he could see why the Chinese boy wasn't interested in him. Ivan wasn't that handsome, or charming, or anything special. He was just—there, in the school. A burden to Yao, probably to everybody.

After his last period, he walked through the hallway to his locker, bracing himself for another dirty look from Yao.

Ivan slammed his locker shut angrily. No; it wasn't his own fault he got rejected, he convinced himself once more—it was Alfred's. He had hoped the boy was becoming a friend to him, and beginning to drop his bully-facade. But no; Alfred was an asshole. Always was, always will be. Hell, he probably knew Yao would reject him. It was probably his sick way of getting a laugh.

_That fucking bastard, _Ivan thought as he stormed out the high school doors.

••••••••

"Okay, I've just got one question, dude: why were you and creepy ol' Ivan being so chummy at lunch?"

Alfred glanced at Gilbert incredulously as him and the guys walked home from school. "What do you mean?"

Gilbert looked at him as if _he _were crazy. "You guys were laughing like loons the whole time, and talking. I thought sitting with Ivan was your _punishment." _

Alfred grew wide-eyed. "It is!"

"Then why is he all of a sudden your best friend now?" Antonio asked.

"He's not, dude!"

"He better not be," Gilbert piped up again. "Don't you remember how he almost choked me to death in kindergarten?"

Okay, that was an over exaggeration. "He did not almost _choke you to death," _Alfred denied.

"Did to."

"Did no."

"Did to!"

"Did not."

"What are you, his bodyguard or something?"

"No," Alfred said. "He's just...not a bad guy, that's all..."

_"Not a bad guy???" _Mathias scoffed.

"He isn't; if you actually talk to him, he's—"

"You're not _dating _him or anything, are you?" Antonio chimed in.

Alfred felt his face grow hot. "What the hell?! Of course not!"

Francis, since he could hear the words _dating _or _boyfriend _or anything else romantic from a three-mile distance, immediately began to swoon, and he put his arm around his bespectacled friend. "_Oooooh~ _does our little mon ami have a crush on the big bad Ivan?"

As the other guys hooted with laughter, Alfred felt his face grow even hotter. "Shut the fuck up, dude! I don't like him, okay? God, why do you always twist everything I say?"

"Because I'm your friend, and that's my job," Francis replied simply.

Alfred rolled his eyes, and he finally felt his face dissipate of its red color. "Just...shut up. Topic's over."

"Okay. Fine, hothead," Mathias scoffed.

Alfred thought about what he had said about Ivan: _not a bad guy. _Since when did Alfred think that about the Russian? He'd always been the _worst _guy in his book. Less than two days ago, Alfred had said the same thing to Ivan when he had called the guys that stood right beside him now stupid: _they're not bad guys. _

They had been talking about themes in English class for a while now, and though Alfred barely paid attention in school, there was one theme he learned that really stuck to him, for no reason in particular—_you can't judge a book by its cover. _Alfred had heard it many times before, of course, but for the first time, he actually thought about what it meant, deeply. _It was so true, _Alfred mused. No one was what they were really like on the surface. Nobody. Everybody had hopes, fears, dreams, and a need to be loved, and wanted. Everybody. No matter what. Alfred's friends, his mom, his stepdad, his little brother, his real dad, his teachers, Mr. Green. Even Ivan. That was why you had to dig deeper beneath the surface, to really discover a person, like a group of scientists discovering the center of the Earth.

And since Alfred was not one to back out of a challenge, he planned to do this with Ivan. No matter what his friends thought.


	5. Day 4 - Thursday

**_Day 4 - Thursday_**

When Alfred walked to the table first thing during his fourth lunch period of punishment, he could feel the tension in the air; tension that could've been cut with a knife. Ivan didn't look at him, nor did he even glare at him, but Alfred could feel that tension.

Alfred saw Yao out of the corner of his eye, walking (pretty quickly) towards his own lunch table, tray in hands. He shot a quick glance at Ivan, and when he brushed by the table, he, totally-and-completely "accidentally" stumbled into Ivan and knocked the books he was still holding down to the floor. Alfred gawked at the Chinese boy for doing such a thing, watching the back of his long brown ponytail as he went to sit at his own table. The Russian boy shot only a brief glance at Yao, a glance so pitiful, so full of a thousand emotions, it actually made Alfred's heart ache. He picked his things back up.

Alfred had immediately decided that this had gone too far. All Ivan had done was asked Yao out, for crying out loud! Why did the boy have to treat him like that? Someone who was obviously sensitive, and eager for some companionship, some compassion? The dirty-blonde shot up from his seat.

"Okay, that's enough!" Alfred shouted. "Yao can't treat you like that! He has no right!"

Ivan didn't say anything at first, just slowly bowed his head, possibly in shame, and grew red.

This only made Alfred's rage grow stronger, and more powerful. "I'm going to go there and teach him a lesson myself."

Ivan jolted his head up quickly. Whenever a kid like Alfred said _teach a lesson, _he knew exactly what that implied. "Alfred, you shouldn't—"

"I don't care!" Alfred shouted back, frustrated, face red with fury. "He needs to learn that you just can't do that to people!"

Ivan opened his mouth to protest, but before he could he saw Alfred storm over towards Yao.

Alfred's rage seethed more and more as he came closer to the Chinese boy, who had his back turn towards him. As luck had it, he must have sensed Alfred's presence, because he turned and regarded him with a slightly-disgusted expression. "May I help you?" he asked a bit sarcastically.

Alfred let his fist slip against his thigh. "Yes, you may, actually," he retorted. He decided to get directly to the point. "Why are you treating Ivan like a piece of shit?"

This must have surprised Yao a bit, for his eyebrows shifted upwards, but then he just sneered with disgust. "What does it matter to you?"

"It doesn't," Alfred said, so mad that Yao could just brush off his actions, and Ivan's feelings, so easily. "But you have no right to treat anybody like that."

Yao just stared at him for a minute, but then turned his head dismissively, and continued to eat. "It's a free country."

Alfred gritted his teeth angrily. He wasn't going to let this conversation end on just that. "Yeah...well, it's not your country. Go back to where you came from, you fucking Chinese piece of shit."

All the other kids sitting at Yao's table turned to Alfred in shock, their mouth agape and their eyes as big as saucers. As for Yao himself, he turned his head, very, very slowly, to glare at Alfred. "What did you say?" he gritted.

Ivan drummed his fingers on the table nervously, and bit his lip. He watched Yao and Alfred, arguing, he assumed. From the looks of it, this wasn't going to turn out well.

And, suddenly, of all possible people, Mr. Green came over.

"Where's Alfred at?" the man asked, making Ivan jump slightly. Mr. Green took note of this, and chuckled as he put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I'm sorry, did I scare you? I'm sorry."

"It's...okay," Ivan muttered, and looked toward Alfred. Should he tell the truth and say Alfred was over by Yao's table, having a go at him? Or should he lie to protect him?

Ivan, to his own surprise, decided to choose the latter. "He's...in the restroom," Ivan lied.

Mr. Green smiled, and put his hand on his shoulder once more. "Okay. Very well. Have a nice day, Ivan."

"You too," Ivan replied, just wanting the principal to get away. Eventually he did, and Ivan continued to watch Alfred and Yao; their argument was intensifying, it seemed. He wondered if he should go up there and stop it.

Meanwhile, the dirty-blonde and the Asian were hurling insults at each other pretty intensely, observed by now nearly half of the cafeteria.

"You're an asshole," Alfred spewed.

"You look like a chipmunk and a pig had an affair."

Alfred gritted his teeth harder; oh, so now he wanted to get _personal. _"You look like an awkward 12-year-old girl that hasn't grown boobs yet."

Their audience _ooed _and whistled at this. Yao just glared at Alfred, like a wild animal defending its freshly-killed prey.

Alfred couldn't stand him anymore. His smug, cold, uncaring looks, his indifferent attitude. Without even thinking, he punched the boy square in the nose.

Yao seemed to stumble back in his own seat, shocked, his mouth totally agape. Then, Alfred guessed his fighting instincts kicked in, for he punched Alfred aggressively in the shoulder.

Alfred pulled back, stung. Yao was so little, but man, could he pack a punch. There wasn't room to go easy on him, so Alfred didn't. He forcefully grabbed Yao's long brown ponytail, swung it and pulled at it hard, and slammed his face into the lunch table.

Alfred had by this time drowned out all noise except for his own rapid heart beat, and his temples pounding against his head. He didn't hear the sounds of the students watching the fight, or Mr. Green and the lunch aides yelling for him to stop. He didn't even hear the sound of Ivan screaming hysterically nearby.

Ivan shot up immediately from his seat once the first punch was thrown. Someone was screaming as if their body were set on fire. (...Him? Was it _him _that was screaming like that?) He saw Mr. Green and a few lunch aides run, in a flash, to separate the two boys.

_Oh God...this is all my fault, _was all that Ivan could think.

Alfred continued to claw mercilessly at Yao even after Mr. Green hoisted him by his shoulders, and began to drag him to his office. His eyes boiled red as he saw Yao get dragged in another direction.

Once he cooled down, and the principal had taken him to the nurse's office to make sure he was alright, he was allowed to go into her bathroom and splash water onto his face. When he looked up in the mirror, he saw, quite frankly, a monster. Small red cuts, cold blue eyes, a ruthless scowl, nostrils flared aggressively, eyebrows thin and tight from furrowing in anger. _My god...do I always look like this? _He glanced at his hands, which still had strands of the silky brunette hair he had torn from Yao's head.

He then let his head slam against the sink. This was his _second _fight in _not even a week. _He would surely get suspended now. Maybe even expelled. The thought sent a chill down Alfred's spine.

Only then did it dawn on him how ironic the situation was. Last time he fought, it was with Ivan, whom he had thought of as a loser, a freak, an opponent in the boxing match. Now, he just got into another fight...because he was defending Ivan.

••••••••

Alfred crossed his arms over his chest defiantly as he sat in Mr. Green's office. He and Yao has just gotten back from the counselors' office to tell their sides of the story. They were placed in seats a good distance away from each other.

The punishment for the two boys was not hard to decide. Out-of-school suspension. Three days. Alfred directed his furious glare to the floor, to avoid glaring where he really wanted to: at Yao, at Mr. Green, at that stupid secretary, who sat there and typed and heard everything, but did nothing about it. Alfred knew it wasn't her job to do so, and it wasn't her fault, but he just had to be mad at something, anything.

"Okay, Miss Page, bring Ivan in," Mr. Green called, to Alfred's complete surprise.

He watched as Ivan stalked in, a lost and completely pitiful look on his face. He took a seat in between Yao and Alfred, refusing to look either of them in the eye. Alfred instantly cocked an eyebrow. _What's _he _doing here? He's got nothing to do with this! _Though, in a way, Alfred mused, he had everything to do with this.

"Ivan," Mr. Green said, focusing his attention on the boy. "I'm sorry, but we have to give you an in-school suspension tomorrow."

This immediately caused the already fired-up Alfred to jump from his seat. "WHAT?!" he screamed. "But Ivan had nothing to do with this!"

Mr. Green's eyes grew wide; he was probably confused as to why Alfred, of all people, was sticking up to Ivan. But he himself didn't know the effects the lunch-punishment had on the two boys' relationship.

He cleared his throat. "I know," he said. "But...Alfred, you won't be here to complete the last day of your punishment. So, Ivan must receive his last day of punishment too."

"That's not fair!" Alfred shouted. "It's just one fucking day! Just let him get off the hook!"

"Alfred Jones, language!" the principal reprimanded firmly."

He pursed his lips angrily, but sank back down into his chair. He knew arguing was fruitless at this point.

Alfred watched as Ivan twiddled with his thumbs nervously, and chewed his lip. His violet eyes were huge and sad, and his pupils seemed to increase tremendously in size. Alfred felt a twang in his heart looking at him. _Poor kid... _he thought.

Mr. Green was at his desk, writing a note; an in-school suspension notification note. Alfred knew those things by heart. You sent it home to your parents to let them know of your punishment. Alfred figured the true purpose of them was to humiliate children, to disappoint their parents, to make kids grounded and yelled at. And...if you, say, didn't show the note to your parents, could you get off scot-free? No! Because that fucking bastard Mr. Green called home anyway, the evening after the in-school suspension was assigned.

He also wrote Ivan a tardy slip, and with that he headed to class. Alfred thought he saw Ivan glance at him as he left, and he thought he saw the Russian boy's eyes glossen, but that must've been his imagination.

••••••••

Alfred sulked in the back seat the whole ride home, his cuts still stinging, and he had just discovered his head hurt. Badly.

He had just gotten picked up from school after the fight. The entire car ride home, his mother had sighed in her seat, rubbing her temples, as if she had a headache. She probably felt so ashamed, having a kid like Alfred. He bowed his head with guilt in his heart.

He then glanced at his stepfather, who was driving. He wasn't as negatively affected as his mother; his eyebrows were just scrunched tightly the whole time. Alfred gritted his teeth in anger as he put on his headphones; for some reason, he _wanted _Lawrence to care as much as his mother did. _He's probably thinking, "not my kid, not my problem", _he thought with disgust. Alfred wasn't a straight A-student, or nice, or quiet, or polite like his precious Matthew. Lawrence had him, who was his own blood-son, so why should he care about his stepson?

"Just like his father..." his mother began to mutter, possibly thinking Alfred wasn't listening. "He's just like his father..."

Alfred sank down lower, wanting his mother to just shut the hell up. He wanted to punch her in the mouth, pull her hair, do _anything _to tell her that he was listening. And that he hated when she said that.

Yes, his father was a delinquent. Yes, his father was his prison. What for, Alfred couldn't remember...was it for another robbery? Or was he still there for that shooting? He didn't know. He hadn't talked to him in months. And the last time he did, it was through a glass wall.

The father he remembered was not the father the media portrayed him to be, or how his mother, and her whole family, said that he was. The father he remembered was strong, handsome, with a toothy grin that made all boo-boos feel better, and all rainy days turn to sunny ones. Though it was a long, long time ago, Alfred still remembered being swooped up into his strong arms for a piggy back ride, being tickled by him in the bathtub, going out for ice cream with him, or the soothing way he used to sing old Native American songs to him before tucking him into bed.

That honeymoon hadn't lasted for long though. His parents had split up before Alfred was even born, but father and son were still close. Up until he was about two, and he went to prison, the first time since Alfred was alive. He was always in and out of the slammer, for one thing or another.

His father was a proud full-blooded Native American, adopted by a white family when he was very young, hence the last name Jones. He never met his biological parents; Alfred mused that maybe that was part of the problem. He had dark raven-hair, jet brown eyes, cocoa-colored skin, and teeth that were white and shiny, and slightly crooked.

Not knowing his full backstory, or what he was really like, Alfred had wanted to be just like him. Now he wanted to prove to his family, everybody, that he was not like him. _Guess I'm failing on that note..._Alfred chuckled bitterly. But it still pissed him off when someone said he was just like his father. He was not. He was not. He tried to tell himself that every day.

When the family got back home, Alfred raced upstairs to his room and slammed the door. Shortly after, his mother curtly walked in and took away his video game consoles, laptop, and TV. She glanced at him slightly. "I suppose you know why I'm taking your stuff," she said, an authoritative tone in her voice.

Alfred, who'd had his face slammed into his pillow, lifted it up and scowled at her. "Yeah, 'cause you're a bitch," he snarled, immediately regretting his words as soon as they passed his lips.

She stopped dead in her tracks, and turned to look at her son. "Alfred Franklin Jones, don't you dare talk to me like that," she hissed.

"I can say whatever the hell I want."

"Alfred, I'm losing patience with you."

"I'm losing patience with _you." _

She dropped his stuff to the floor, and walked towards her son. Alfred saw her face and he grew...a bit frightened, actually. Her lips were pursed tightly and her jaw was clenched, and he knew she was at her wit's end with her son's behavior. She looked...scary.

Then, suddenly, to Alfred's shock, she lifted up her hand and slapped him on the cheek, hard. He laid his hand on his now-blotched face, mouth agape. "Don't you dare talk back to me again!" she shouted, voice trembling, and if shocked by her _own _actions.

Alfred was stunned. This was the first time he had been hit by her. Outraged, without thinking, he slapped her right back, even harder.

She stumbled over her own two feet, her mouth now gaping open, and when Alfred looked into her eyes he saw that tears glistened them. "Alfred Franklin Jones." She tried to sound authoritative, but her voice just shook. "For once in your life, listen to me. Stay in your room, and lock your door. I don't want to see you again for the rest of the night." And with that, she picked his technology back up, carried it out of the room, and slammed his door. Alfred could hear her sobbing even after she left.

He did listen to his mother, for once in his life. He jumped up, locked his door, and flew back onto his bed, and released his own river of tears. He buried his face in his arms, and really let go.

What everyone had said was true. He _was _a bully. He _was _just like his father. He wiped his nose with his sleeve. Had his father gotten into fights in school, too? Had his father had his own version of Ivan, to pick on and to call names, and to bully? Alfred figured he did.

He opened his door, and crept down the steps, making sure to be as quiet as possible. He placed his face in between the slits, and looked down. He saw his mother in the kitchen; her back was turned towards him, and she was looking out the window. His eyes grew teary again. He wanted to go down there, hug her as tight as he could, apologize, and swear he'll never hit her again, never do anything to hurt her again. But...would that be true? Would he truly never again let his impulses get the better of him? He couldn't say for sure. And, even if did go down there, and do those things, would she accept his apologies, and open her arms to him? Or would she shoo him away?

_She doesn't deserve a son like me. Nobody does. _He sulked back to his room, and locked the door.

Some time later, he heard a knock on his door. "Alfred?" It was Lawrence. The last person Alfred wanted to see right now. "Can I talk this over with you?"

Alfred wanted to yell at him to go away, to just go to Matthew's room, because he loved him better anyway. But he couldn't. He couldn't find the strength in his voice. All he could squeak out was a tiny little "no". He curled up into a tighter ball on his bed.

His stepfather seemed to accept this, and Alfred heard his heavy feet walk away from his door.

Once he knew for sure Lawrence was gone, his eyes warily met his digital clock, for his mother had taken his phone. 11:25. _Damn. It's that late already? _He decided that it was bedtime. He reached over and turned out his lamp, and threw the covers over his body.

Thoughts filled his mind; in the late of night, when one's deepest and sometimes darkest thoughts seemed to come out. Grave thoughts. Thoughts he figured would never fill his head, but they did. _You're a brat. You're a monster. Nobody loves you. Your mother hates you. You're gonna be a jailbird, just like your father. You'd be better off gone. _

Alfred Jones cried himself to sleep that night.

••••••••

Ivan Braginsky stayed in his room the entire day after school, waiting, dreading the phone call home.

He hadn't given his mother the note. He'd been too scared to. He just figured he'd wait until Mr. Green got on the phone with her.

When Ivan was called to dinner, he reluctantly went, praying to God that the principal wouldn't call over the meal.

He tapped his foot anxiously as he ate. Every passing minute, every passing second, Ivan dreaded. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the sudden sound of his father walking through the door, home from work.

Katyusha giggled like crazy seeing this. "It's just Papa," she said. "Who'd you think it was...your principal?"

Ivan cocked an eyebrow at her startlingly-accurate joke. _Yes...I did, actually. _He sighed heavily. The anxiety was getting to him.

He watched his father sit down, and grab a plate for himself. Crap. Now _both _of his parents were here, to know of Ivan's punishment. He wondered what they would do. He'd never been punished at school before, in any way. Well, technically he had been, through this whole week, but that was different. His parents hadn't known about lunch with Alfred.

The telephone rang. Ivan's heart rate increased tremendously. His mother shot out of her chair to answer it.

Ivan bit his lip as his mother said, "hello?" Wait for it... _okay, her facial expression is neutral. Now she's smiling. All she's saying is 'uh-huh'. _She said, "Okay, thank you!" and hung up.

She turned to face the family. "That was Janet from the bakery," she said. "Wanted to know if I'd come and pick up some brownies tomorrow."

Ivan never felt so relieved in his life. However, the telephone began to ring once more. Ivan, still feeling the relief, didn't even realize it was ringing at first, and he didn't hear his mother pick it up.

"Yeah—uh-huh—Ivan?—pardon?—in-school-suspension? For what?"

All eyes turned to stare at Ivan. He felt himself grow as pale as a ghost as his mother glanced at him. She didn't look angry—just sad. And confused. Ivan swallowed, hard. "Um. Yes. Of course. Thanks for telling me. Bye," his mother finished, and hung up the phone.

She inched over towards her son. "Ivan..." she began.

He looked at all the faces around him. Katyusha just stared at him blankly, looking just as confused as their mom. Natalya glared slightly at Mama, as if it were _her _fault Ivan was in trouble. And finally—his father. Concern, and possibly a hint of anger, scrunched his thin, smoky-gray eyebrows together, and his lips were pursed tightly.

Ivan couldn't take their stares anymore. He ran from the dinner table, and into his room. His hideaway. He wasn't alone for long, though; perhaps fifteen minutes later, his mother came. "Ivan?" she called, knocking. "May I come and talk this over with you?" Though Ivan didn't say yes, she came in anyway, and saw her son sitting upright on his bed, shoulders and back hunched, staring blankly into space, and his lips trembling like a child's.

His mother sat on the bed next to him, her weight causing the mattress to creak and croak a bit. She touched his back lightly. "Ivan, dear..."

He looked at her then. Her expression showed nothing but concern; she was frowning slightly, and her eyebrows were furrowed together. Her beautiful teal eyes scanned him intensely. Her eyes. Ivan hadn't looked into her eyes for so long.

He couldn't stand it no longer. He flung into her arms, a bit forcefully, and bawled. He began to say things that he was sure were muffled, what with burying his face into her sweater; they were apologizes, confessions, that he hoped she was hearing, but at the same time didn't.

"I'm sorry, Mama," he choked out once he had calmed down a bit. "I'm sorry for getting into trouble. You and Papa are probably disappointed in me."

"No, dear," she soothed, wiping away his tears. "We would never be disappointed in you. Everybody gets into trouble sometimes, and gets punished sometimes, and that's okay. It's just human."

All weight seemed to lift off of Ivan's shoulders. His mother kissed his forehead. "I love you."

Ivan met her gaze warily. "I love you, too."

They just sat like this for a few minutes, his face buried in her shoulder, her rubbing his back soothingly. Ivan thought that perhaps fifteen was too old to cry in front of your mother, and to cuddle with her. He shooed away that thought quickly, though; if fifteen _was _too old, heck, he wanted to be a little kid forever. It felt good being held by her.

She smiled, a bit sadly, and kissed him again, and rubbed his shoulder. "Do you wanna come back downstairs and finish your dinner?"

Ivan shifted a bit. "Thanks, but...I think I wanna be alone for a while."

She nodded. "I understand." She pulled away from his embrace slowly, and stood up to leave. "Do you want me to bring up your food?"

Ivan swallowed, and shook his head. He wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve. "No. I'm not hungry."

She smiled. "I love you."

"I love you too."

When she left, Ivan just stared at the floor, his heart feeling lighter in his chest. It felt good to know that she, and Papa, weren't angry, or disappointed. He remembered what she had said: _everybody gets into trouble sometimes, and gets punished sometimes, and that's okay. It's just human. _

Ivan supposed that was true. He figured people instinctively had a desire to act badly, and go against the rules. Some people were just better at hiding it, and resisting the urge, than others.

Ivan wondered if his mother would have said the same thing if she had a son like Alfred. What _did _Alfred's parents think of his behavior? Were they the type of parents that just didn't care? Were they not home much? Whatever the case, Ivan hoped they weren't condemning him for his behavior. He _was _just human, after all. And he had been defending Ivan during his fight with Yao.

A few hours past as Ivan sat on his bed, and thought, musingly, about all different kinds of things. He began to wonder what Alfred was doing right now. _Probably sleeping. _He looked at his clock. 11:25. _Dang, it was _that _late? _On one hand, the day had seemed to fly by—but on the other, it seemed to drag on incredulously. Ivan yawned. He should get some sleep, too. He rolled over and yanked his blankets up to his chin.

Ivan Braginsky thought about Alfred as he fell asleep that night.

••••••••

**Woo! Wow, that was a long chapter! It's finally the climax of the story, though XD**

**Also, for all you major China-fans out there, sorry if I made him seem a bit like a "villain" in the beginning. That really wasn't my intention at all.**

**Hope you enjoyed! Next chapter'll probably be out by the end of this week! (I have school now, so I can't write/post as often as I used to—but I'm trying) :) **


	6. Friday

**_Friday_**

Alfred woke up the next morning with a start, almost as if he had just gotten out of a bad dream; if that _was_ the case, he couldn't remember it. He rubbed at his crusty eyelids and flicked sleep boogers from his sandy eyelashes. He looked hazily at his clock. 6:56. _Oh shit, I'm gonna be late for school! _he internally screamed. He jumped from his bed. _Shit, Mom, why didn't you wake me up?! _Only until halfway through dashing to his dressers did he realize that, no, he wasn't late for school. He was suspended. Once again. And his mom hadn't waken him up because she was pissed at him. Or, at least, probably. _I can't blame her, after what happened yesterday... _Alfred thought sadly.

The American boy hesitated halfway through opening his door to step out and go down for breakfast. _Does Mom even wanna see me? _However, his grumbling stomach forced him to trek down to the kitchen for something to eat, whether his mother liked it or not.

Once down there, he saw his family, hustling and bustling on a weekday morning like normal. Lawrence was hurriedly trying to put on his work clothes. Alfred figured his mom didn't have to work, because she wasn't in her work attire—or maybe she'd called off, to stay at home and watch over her suspended son. Matthew was chugging down cereal, eating as quickly as he could as to not be late—because, of course, like a good 13-year-old boy, he went to school, went to all his little honors classes, and went home to do all his little honors homework. And being late even just one day, even a Friday, would mar his perfect little record. Alfred shook his head. He was letting his jealous, spiteful thoughts get the better of him; he told himself that.

His mother was carrying a cheerful conversation with her husband and youngest son, talking between them back and forth; she didn't even acknowledge Alfred was in the room at first. Soon after, Lawrence picked up his briefcase and announced he was off. He leaned into his wife, and Alfred couch hear the smooching sound of their lips meeting as they kissed. He then leaned to peck Matthew on the cheek, and to ruffle his blonde curls. Matthew smiled as he looked up at his father. This made Alfred seeth even more. Lawrence then noticed his stepson standing close by and said, with a shadowy look in his eyes, "Bye, Alfred."

_Piss off, _Alfred thought. But, deep inside, he was jealous; he wanted a kiss, and a hug too. He wanted more than just a "bye" at least. He glared enviously at Matthew; he seemed to have everything. Alfred had nothing, besides an awkward, hesitant stepfather and a mother who just didn't know what to do with him anymore. And, of course, a dad behind prison bars.

Alfred sat at the table and helped himself to some Cocoa Puffs, refusing to look his mother or brother in the eyes.

Matthew cocked an eyebrow at him. "Alfie—why aren't you dressed for school?" he asked in his naturally soft, meek voice. Alfred glared at him, which made the younger boy cower.

"Are you suspended _again?" _Matthew asked incredulously.

Alfred glared again and sneered slightly. He thought about retorting something to the boy, but he didn't want to push it; besides, their mother was right there.

"Matthew..." their mother hushed, and placed a hand on his arm. Matt looked from his mother to his brother, and then back again. He lowered his head, a bit sadly.

Alfred, despite his harsh exterior, really felt bad for treating his brother with hostility. The two were "only" half-brothers, and as different as night and day, personality-wise, but they were probably closer to each other than the Siamese twins themselves. Alfred remembered fondly how, when he and Mattie were little, they used to trick new people they met by saying they were twins. They always fooled everybody—and for understandable reason; the two boys looked enough alike to _really _be twins. "Your mother's genes," Lawrence had once remarked, smiling at the two.

Like all brothers, however, Alfred really, truly didn't see the resemblance—but he used the fact that people did as an advantage. Even so, as they grew older, the boys seemed to drift farther and farther apart. Matthew had grown to be an honor-roll student, a hockey player, and seemed to have become even more quiet and well-behaved than he had when he was younger. Alfred, in the other hand, began to trade in his schoolwork for acting up in class and doing petty shit to get him in detention, or suspended.

Alfred sighed, and took a bite out of his cereal. He supposed all good things couldn't last forever.

Soon, it was time for Matthew to head to school, and his older brother watched, a bit scornfully, as he kissed Mom goodbye. "I love you!" he called to her halfway out of the door.

She smiled. "I love you too, sweetie."

Alfred scowled, but at the same time held back bitter tears. Of course, she was all kisses and smiles for her younger son. Her better son.

When Matthew left, for the first time that morning—or rather, really, for the first time since the day before—she laid her eyes on her son. "Alfred, honey..." She rested her hand on his forearm. To avoid her gaze, he stuffed another mouthful of cereal into his mouth.

"I'm sorry for hitting you yesterday," she said, very sincerely, her tone soft. Her voice was what finally drew Alfred in—he looked up and saw his mom staring at him intently, with almost a starry-like look in her eyes. Her hand drew away from his arm a bit. "I'm really sorry." She drew in a deep breath, and moved her hand away from her son entirely, her lips pursed.

Alfred wanted so much to leap into her arms and give her the biggest hug possible—to feel safe and sound being held by her again, as he had when he'd been a little boy. He wanted so much to just say to her: _I'm sorry for hitting you too. It was all my fault. I'm so, so sorry. I love you. _But his body seemed paralyzed—he couldn't move. He wanted to cry, but not right now. Not in front of her.

He aggressively pushed back his chair and leaped from it. Lips trembling, he ran up the stairs, his feet heavy on the steps, and rushed into his room. He sat on his bed, cupped his face in his hands, and cried. He took off his glasses and set them on his padded blanket so he could cry harder.

Alfred bit his lip hard, bitterly. _Wow—crying twice in two days straight. Some man I am, huh? _He rolled onto his bed in a fetal position, and let his head lay against his pillow, and closed his eyes lightly.

His mother walked in shortly after. Alfred shut his eyes tighter, in an attempt to make it look as if he were sleeping. He heard his mother walk close by him; she pulled in her breath once more. She smoothed his hair, and cupped his face in her hand briefly. Alfred discovered he enjoyed the touch of her gentle, slim hand, which smelled like cocoa butter. But he didn't open his eyes, or smile. As briefly as she had been in his room, she had walked out.

As soon as she left, Alfred huffed out the huge breath of air he'd been holding in, and choked back a sob. Why did he always push people away? He hated doing that, but he didn't know how to open up his heart, and let people in (or, at least, every time he tried to, he always chickened out hesitantly). He sighed. He wished for the umpteenth time he was more like Matthew.

Alfred ended up falling asleep. He hadn't intended to, but the longer he lay there, tiredness and fatigue just overtook him and he fell into slumber.

Hours later, he woke up hazily; there seemed to be a huge frog in his throat, for some odd reason, and he groggily coughed it out. He got up, and spent the rest of his morning doing mundane things; completing make-up schoolwork, reading comic books, hell, even writing, something he hated doing in the best of circumstances—he wrote poems, rants, essays. _Damn__, how'd I get this creative? _He thought, cocking his head to the side, observing his work. He must have had some of his mom in him after all—she _was _a journalist. He even tried calling his father on the telephone in his mom and stepdad's room. But of course, no one picked up—except for a stern, professional voicemail.

He thought about many different things—but his thoughts eventually led to none other than Ivan. _I _have _to see him, _Alfred insisted to himself vehemently, on a whim, totally out of the blue. But somehow the idea sounded so right. He glanced at his clock. Just after twelve. Okay, so he's still at school. He thought about waiting until after Ivan got out, but for some reason decided against it. He wanted—no, had—to see Ivan immediately, and talk to him. About what, Alfred wasn't sure. But he thought about him; his wavy ash-blonde hair, his mystical violet eyes, his round, kiddish face. And for some reason that made Alfred's heart race even faster, and he became even more adamant in wanting to see Ivan.

Alfred began to pace around his room. Ivan was probably almost out of lunch. So okay. He'll just slip, say, a note to him, through the window, in his next period class. He had science with Mr. Bulget, right?

Alfred's heart began to beat faster and faster, until he stopped dead in his tracks. Ivan wouldn't _be _in Mr. Bulget's. He'd be in the in-school suspension room.

_Drat. _This complicated Alfred's plan a bit—but he figured he'd do the same thing as he was planning before. He just had to be a little more discreet, and a little more sneaky.

Hand trembling, he lifted a pencil and a piece of paper and began to write Ivan a note, but hesitated. What was he going to say? _Hey, let's meet after school, just because I feel like it? _From your school bully? Even Alfred had to admit that was pretty sketchy. He poked the eraser on his pencil to his cheek, trying to find a good way to word his feelings without sounding too weird, or creepy, or stand-offish.

He lifted up his pencil for take two.

_Ivan, _

_Meet me after school at my place. I need to talk to you about something. My address is 1776 Lincoln Ave. Come into my backyard, by the shed. _

_Alfred_

Alfred tapped his pencil to his chin in thought. That wasn't too sketchy, nor too vague, was it? He didn't think it was. He folded up the note and stuffed it in his pants pocket.

He stood in front of his bedroom door challengingly. What excuse was he going to make to get out of the house? Alfred didn't know why, but he felt the urgent need to get out as soon as possible. He'd just have to improvise, he supposed.

He trekked down the steps, hurriedly throwing on a sweatshirt all the way down. He popped his head through the neck hole and went into the living room, where his mother was.

She read his mind. "Where are you going?" Her tone was a bit stern.

Alfred swallowed. "I just remembered—Gilbert's dad asked me to pet sit their dogs this afternoon."

She cocked her eyebrow doubtfully. "...Really?"

"Yes." Alfred held up his hand. "I swear on my life. I just forgot about it last minute."

Alfred's mom sighed, and rubbed her forehead. "How long are you pet sitting them?"

The teen shrugged. "About an hour."

"Why would he need you to pet sit them for only an _hour?" _

"I don't know, Mom—it's Mr. Beilschmidt, okay! He's weird about stuff like that. You know that."

"Why don't you go up there and use my phone and remind him you're suspended, as well as grounded, and he has to find somebody else."

Alfred held back a groan and an eye roll. She was starting to grate on his nerves. _Damn, is she stubborn or what!? _"Mom, he just asked me to pet sit them. I'll only be an hour, I swear. I'll even pick up some milk for you at the store if you want me to."

She sighed again. "Fine." Before Alfred could sigh in relief, she quickly and sternly added, "but you better be back _in an hour. _If not—you'll have dire consequences, boy."

Her harsh warning didn't register in Alfred's mind. "Okay—thanks mom!" Without thinking, to his own surprise, in fact, he ran to the couch and hugged her.

Startled by her son's warm embrace, Alfred's mother's eyes widen and she almost awkwardly patted his arms as she wrapped her own around him.

"Bye mom!" he called, racing for the door.

Alyssa Williams looked closely at her oldest son as she saw him heading out the door. Heavy sweatshirt, tall and lanky build, hair with long bangs that swooped close to his eyes. _Typical teenager, _she thought, chuckling. Crazy; she could still remember very clearly when he was just a little baby. She remembered cuddling him in her arms for the first time, holding his tiny body close to her chest. She'd been 20 when she gave birth to him—but yet, she'd been a _young _20\. Still immature, still careless, still wanting-to-do-nothing-but-party; she still acted like a teenager, really. But looking into little Alfred's baby blue eyes reminded her that she _had _to grow up—no ifs, ands, or buts. So—that's what she did. After Alfred was born, she got her life together: she went to college, found a suitable, mature boyfriend that was a good influence, had her second child with him, married that boyfriend, and got a job as a journalist.

Though, Alyssa remembered in the depths of her memories holding her squirmy, small, pink firstborn son. She'd cradled him close to her bare breast, perhaps too close, and shakily kissed his scrunched forehead. She thought about what he was the product of—an immature young woman who had trouble finding her place in the world, and a perhaps even less mature young man, who'd been in and out of juvy ever since he'd been a teenager. They were not innocent. They were responsible for their own actions. This small child, this baby, however, was completely pure, and innocent, and needed to rely on a responsible adult to care for him. Alyssa sighed shakily. She knew that adult had to be her. She kissed Alfred Franklin Jones again, and whispered into his ear softly as he cried: "Shhh...it's okay, baby. It's just you and me. We'll go home and figure out the world together. It's okay. Everything will be okay." A tear slid from her eye as she said this.

The sound of the door slamming brought Alyssa back to the here and now. _Shhh. It's okay, baby. It's just you and me. We'll go home and figure out the world together. It's okay. Everything will be okay. _Why did that old, old phrase come back to haunt her, and repeat in her head on and on like a mantra? The woman got up, and went upstairs into the bathroom, opening up the medicine cabinet. She was starting to get a headache; she needed an aspirin.

Alfred Jones couldn't have got to the school fast enough. When running finally wore him down, however, he began to jog at a speedy, steady pace until he reached the big building.

_Okay. _He was at the front of the building now; look over in that large window. That was the cafeteria. Look into the other window. There was the library. But...where was the in-school suspension room? Alfred cocked his head to the side.

He looked towards the left side of the building. Those purple flowers...that big, startlingly-green tree...Alfred vividly remembered looking out the window, during all the times he'd been in ISS, bored out of his mind. He'd seen those flowers. He'd seen that tree.

Alfred ran towards his destination, never looking back, never hesitating.

••••••••

Boredom. Pure, absolute boredom.

That's the only thing Ivan had discovered you could feel while sitting in a large, large classroom with only two other kids and about thirty desks, and the only sounds being made are the ones made from the tapping of an anxious pencil, or the occasional phone call to the teacher, or the clearing of a groggy throat.

Ivan had glanced at the clock as often as possible, but then eventually stopped when he realized that doing that only made time go by slower. He took out a book, and read until his eyes were hazy and sensitive to light. When a cart came in and brought the kids' lunch, Ivan ate slowly, for some reason wishing he had Alfred by his side.

About an hour later, while he was sitting and drawing, he heard a small tap on the window. At first, he didn't think much of it; probably just a tree branch. But then the next two was louder, more persistent, and made everybody look up, towards the window. Even the teacher, with her curly false-looking red hair and glasses hanging on the bridge of her nose, turned to stare. After a few minutes, however, she lowered her head, as well as the other two kids. Ivan, however, did not.

What Ivan saw next, staring out that window, nearly made him, quite frankly, shit his pants. First it was a turf of dirty-blonde hair (with that cowlick, that damn cowlick...) and then blue eyes framed by thin glasses. Then it was a wide, grinning, closed-mouth smile. _Alfred. Holy shit. _

Ivan walked towards the window, under the guise of having to sharpen his pencil. He went over there and did so, and at the same time stared at Alfred through the window. He was grinning like a loon, and waving giddily. Then, to Ivan's shock, he just lifted up the window, ever so slightly, and as quick as lightening slid him a small piece of paper. "What are you—" Ivan began to whisper, but before he could finish his sentence, Alfred had ran off.

"Young man!" He jumped when he heard the teacher's sharp voice. He turned to look at her, hurriedly closing the window while doing so; she stood close by her desk, and the other kids were staring at him. "What in God's name are you doing?"

"I—uh—" Ivan began to stammer, swallowing hard. He was fixed into her icy stare, and he froze. "I was just...emptying out my pencil shavings," he offered lamely, holding up his pencil.

One kid, a younger boy, perhaps 7th or 8th grade, began to snicker. "Quiet!" The teacher snapped at him. Then she continued to press Ivan, sneering at him slightly. "Next time, use the trash can," she panned in a monotone voice.

Ivan quickly nodded his head, shoved the note in his pocket, and headed back to his seat.

Hands trembling, he took the note out, and undid the folds. Flabbergasted, he read it:

_Ivan, _

_Meet me after school at my place. I need to talk to you about something. My address is 1776 Lincoln Ave. Come into my backyard, by the shed. _

_Alfred_

So many questions flooded Ivan's already-hazy mind. First of all...how'd he get that damn window open in the first place? (though, on second thought, a kid like Alfred probably knew how to pick locks, easily...) Why did he want to meet up with _Ivan? Should _Ivan go to his house? Was Alfred being real? Or was this just a dirty trick?

"Young man!"

Ivan was jolted when he looked up, and saw the ISS teacher hovering over him. Her dark green eyes seemed to look harsher than ever, and her glasses more sternly placed on her nose. "Let me see that note," she hissed, bending down and offering her hand.

"Wha—" Ivan stammered.

"Let. Me. See. The. Note."

Ivan's heart began to beat so loudly he was surprised nobody else heard it. He looked up at the stern teacher, who was obviously getting to be at her wit's end with him, turned his head to gaze at the two other kids, who were wide-eyed and staring at him, waiting to see what Ivan would do. Ivan gulped.

He looked back up at the teacher, his hand still grasping the note firmly. Then, totally frozen, on a whim, he did something that must've shocked the teacher, and the other kids in the room. He held up the note, and tore it into tiny shreds. Right in front of the women's face.

Ivan expected her to at least yell at him, and do god-knows-what to him in terms of punishment. But to Ivan's surprise, she just stood there for a few seconds, her lips pursed into a thin line, arms crossed over her chest, and she turned. "Clean up that mess," she told Ivan, as she sauntered back to her desk.

He did as he was told. He picked up the note, walked towards the trash can, and threw it in there. All the while a nervous sweat began to break out.

Ivan had a feeling, a grave, nagging feeling, that he'd just made a dire mistake.

••••••••

Getting out of school had always been a happy feeling for Ivan. Especially on a Friday. He could get away from all his classes, all his bustling schoolwork, all his stress, and all his teachers for a short while. He also didn't have to deal with his peers, or be an outcast. At home, he could just be free, and be himself. Even if it was only for two days.

But today, a whirl of emotions flooded him once he exited the school doors. His heart was pounding, and he began to sweat. He'd already decided full stop that he _was _going to Alfred's house, and why he felt so anxious to do so, he wasn't sure. Not too long ago, he'd actually _wanted _to go to the boy's house, just to see what kind of a place he'd been raised in (based on Alfred's former nature, Ivan had always, almost humorously, assumed he'd be raised by wolves, for crying out loud).

Ivan began to walk, not towards the direction of his own home, but towards the direction where Alfred had said he lived. Ivan remembered it was Lincoln Avenue, which was on the whole other side of town. Ivan had texted his mom, making up the excuse that he was going to a friend's house. That was, of course, bull crap. Ivan had no friends.

Once he reached Lincoln Avenue, his heart beat faster and faster in his chest. He walked tentatively on the sidewalk, and studied the homes that littered the street. There were very nice homes; pretty big, but not _mansion _sized. Every one of them had a classic white picket fence and clean-cut bright green grass, and nice cars parked in the driveways. Ivan was, to say the least, taken aback. Alfred lived in just an average home, with probably an average family. That in itself was an unfathomable pill to swallow.

_Okay. I'm here. _Ivan looked closely at all the home numbers, trying to find the right one. But none of them rang a bell in his mind, the way a Pre-calc student relearns an old Algebra concept.

His head now began to whirl around desperately, and he picked up his pace. _Where was Alfred's home at? It had to be here somewhere! _He began to pant and he choked back a sob as the realization set in.

_He couldn't remember Alfred's address. _

Now he regretted deeply tearing that little note to shreds in front of the ISS teacher. He ran from house to house, trying to find the 4-digit number that would click on his head. But it never came. _Was it 1767? Or was it 1677? 6177? _Ivan almost cried the frustration he felt.

After running around for a few more minutes, probably looking like a madman to all the neighborhood people, he decided, regretfully, that it was fruitless effort. He bit his lip, angry at himself.

_Curse my fucking shit memory... _he growled to himself, kicking his foot bitterly at the sidewalk, making his toes cry out in pain.

Ivan walked back home, slowly, disappointedly, crying the whole way.

••••••••

"Mattie, god-dammit, stop throwing the ball like a pussy!"

"I can't help it, Alfred—that's just how I throw!"

Alfred grumbled with more anger than necessary. He wasn't mad at his brother, really—he was pissed at Ivan. _It's nearly 4:00 and that asshole still isn't here. _Alfred knew it didn't take long to walk from school to his house.

To pass the time, he'd decided to play some baseball in the backyard with Matthew. Minute by minute, Alfred had expected Ivan to walk through, but minute by minute he grew more disappointed. His anger and frustration began to grow, too. Playing ball with his brother did nothing to lessen his feelings, however—not when his brother was so clumsy with his pitching technique, and dropped the bat in his trembling hands every time he held it. _Good grief, _Alfred sighed.

"Mattie, no!" Alfred gritted angrily when the ball his brother threw leaped right over his head, and bounced of the house. He caught it easily, and threw it back at Matthew. "Don't throw it like an idiot this time!"

Alfred barely registered the hurt on Matthew's face. He reached out to catch the baseball, but it ended up fumbling awkwardly in his outstreched hands. This only made Alfred angrier. He raised his bat, a sneer on his face, ready to hit the ball hard. However, Mattie didn't allow him to do that—not with the sissy, cowardly way he pitched. This time the ball landed not even ten feet in front of him.

"Augh!" Alfred called in frustration. He ran to grab the ball, and threw it back at Matthew. It hit him straight in the chest.

The younger boy immediately cried out in pain. "Ouch—not so hard, Alfie!" Matthew called. The meek tone in his voice made Alfred seeth even harder, for some reason.

Alfred sighed bitterly and glanced at his wristwatch. After 4:30. Okay—Ivan _definitely _wasn't coming now. It was official. _What the fuck, Ivan?! _He must've been pissed at Alfred—for something. The American boy lifted his eyes back up.

"I'll throw it good this time—promise, Alfie!" the younger boy insisted, readying his ball and mit.

The older brother rolled his blue eyes ever-so-sarcastically, and sneered a bit. He held his bat back up.

To Alfred's surprise, he _did _throw the ball pretty alright. The problem this time was Alfred. He stumbled over his own two feet, which caused him to not look where the ball was flying. Unfortunately, this caused the baseball to hit him right in the chin. He clicked his tongue, and grabbed his now-aching jaw. _"Ouch, fuck!" _Alfred whisper-yelled.

Matthew immediately came running to his aid, touching his brother's shoulder tenderly. "Are you, alright, Alfie?" he asked softly.

However, Alfred just pushed him away angrily. Maybe it was his hurt chin, or the frustration over Ivan, but for some reason the older boy was just pissed at his brother, despite his genuinely sincere attitude. "No," he huffed. "Get away from me." In a moment of rage, he picked up the ball and threw it at Matthew, in the chest, hard.

"Ouch, Alfie!" Matthew squealed, like a little girl, his eyebrows scrunched together, hurt-looking. He glared sadly at his brother, and ran into the house. _He's probably telling Mom, _Alfred thought seethingly. _The little tattletale. God, he's just like Kiku. _

Once he saw Matthew talking to their mother through the kitchen window, Alfred ran in through the back door. "You little snitch!" he snarled angrily as his mother and brother just stared at him, wide-eyed.

Matthew buried his face in his mother's shoulder. Alyssa rubbed his hair soothingly, and glared at Alfred. "Alfred Jones!" she hissed. "That was a mean thing you did!"

"Well I don't care!" Alfred shouted right back. "You need to tell Mattie he needs to stop being such a pussy."

The younger boy began to whimper a bit. Alyssa smoothed back his hair, and kissed his forehead. _Is she _trying _to piss me off even more?! _Alfred thought bitterly.

"Alfred!" Alyssa yelled. "You do _not _use such language! Especially towards your own brother!" She pointed upstairs. "Go to your room—now!"

Alfred glared at her, grabbing an ice pack from the fridge for his jaw, though it had stopped throbbing with pain now for the most part. "1..." she began to count.

"2...Don't you make me say 3, Alfred Franklin."

He turned and stomped up the stairs, to his room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Alfred seethed with hatred and anger—at the world. He heard soft laughter coming from downstairs. He snarled. _She's probably baking him cookies or something, _he raged with jealously, _she probably won't give me any, either. Doesn't even care that I almost broke my jaw. _Alas, he'd never actually told her he'd hurt his chin, nor did Matthew. But Alfred figured a mother should be able to, like, sense stuff like that.

Altogether, though, he felt the most angry at himself. _Why didn't Ivan come? I gave him my address and everything! Oh god, it must've been something I did... _he cupped his hands over his face.

Something Alfred did. _Was it the fact that I opened the window? Or was it the fact that I came to see him during ISS in the first place? Was it something I wrote in the note? _

_Does he just...not wanna see me? Does he not like me?_

The thought that that was a possibly almost killed Alfred.


	7. The Long Weekend

**I'm _super _sorry this chapter's so late. What with school and everything...but I also haven't had service for a few days, so I've been unable to write, unfortunately, during that space of time, so I was held back a bit. I was also unsure about how the near-ending of this story was going to play out...but I think I've got it down :)**

**This chapter should be a good one :) Enjoy!**

**••••••••**

**_Saturday_**

Ivan woke up feeling, to say the least, miserable. It wasn't the fact that his mouth was as dry as a desert, or that a groggy woke-up-too-late migraine began to pound on his temples; no, it was something deeper than that. More like an aching. Not a physical one, either. He grabbed the water bottle he always kept on his nightstand, opened the cap, and chugged it down.

After doing his business in the bathroom, Ivan trudged downstairs. Greeting him in the kitchen was his mother, cooking breakfast as usual. His sisters were already at the dining table, still in their pajamas. He glanced in the living room, and saw his father had already taken a seat in his beloved leather chair, reserved just for him, watching something on TV with a mug of coffee sitting in one of the little cup-holders.

Ivan's mother was the first to spot him. She glanced over, and smiled warmly at him. "Good morning, bed-head!" she teased, chuckling.

He gingerly touched his hair, scowling a bit. Indeed, his ash-blonde locks were always unruly in the mornings. He hated it, but he supposed it wasn't unusual. This was confirmed when he glanced over at his sisters, and their hair, which was disheveled, much more so than his. It was times like this he was glad to be a boy. Ivan smirked a bit, and went to take a seat at the table.

Eventually, the events from the day before began to resurface again in Ivan's mind, and thinking about it actually made him queasy. He let out a shaky sigh; his mother heard him, and glanced at him slightly again, brows furrowed. "Ivan—is something wrong, dear?" she asked, at the same time setting down the cooked food on a plate with a spatula.

Ivan gave her a sideways gaze, cupping his face in his palm. "No..." he insisted, though not vehemently.

His mother then set the spatula down, and turned to face her son entirely, hand on the counter. "Are you sure? You seem out of it lately," she pointed out. "Is everything okay at school?"

He didn't say anything, just let out a little "mm" sound, and looked down at the table.

Ivan didn't look anyone in the eye, but he heard his mother's footsteps grow closer to him. She sighed a little bit. "Ivan—If something was the matter, you'd tell me, right?"

He looked up, a little startled by her question. He looked at his sisters, who were staring at him wide-eyed and intently. And his father had just walked in, too. Oh, brother.

Ivan shrugged. "Yeah, I...guess."

He glanced at his sisters and father, who by this time had become dead silent. He then shot his look back to his mom. She gave him a reassuring smile and patted his back a little. Ivan took a deep breath.

He lied. For some stupid reason he lied. "It's this kid I like, I guess," Ivan muttered, but loudly enough for them to hear. He blushed red, and fiddled with the collar of his white t-shirt.

The reactions were immediate. Katyusha's grin grew wide, and she let out a little squeal. "I knew it!" she gushed. "What's her name? What does she look like? Can we meet her?" Natalya, on the other hand, glared at Ivan a bit, as if this news made her very angry. Mr. Braginsky gave his son a small, toothless grin from ear to ear.

Ivan's mother smiled a bit sadly. "Aw, dear..." She still had her hand on his back. "Why does it make you upset?"

Her tone was so sincere, Ivan was almost sorry that he had lied. He swallowed a bit. "I don't know," he croaked out.

Mama began to fiddle with her finger on the table. "Is...this a girl who likes you back?" she asked, her face growing a bit pink, too.

Then Ivan said probably the stupidest thing he could've possibly said. "It's a boy, actually," he nearly spewed out.

Dead silence. And dead stares. Ivan didn't know what his family was thinking. His mother's face grew pinker. "Why, honey..." she said. "That's okay. I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. Oh, gosh..."

"That's fine, Mama," Ivan quickly insisted.

"It's alright," his father, who'd come up to stand by his wife. He had a genuine smile on his face; that in itself made the weight Ivan didn't even know he had on his shoulders lift.

Katyusha let out a small giggle. "Oh...I see," she said. "We probably scared him out of liking girls, anyway," she added, winking at Natalya jokingly. The younger girl had no comment.

"Katyusha!" their mother scolded.

"It's fine," Ivan insisted again, smiling a little bit. Seeing his family be this supportive, especially out of the blue, was comforting for Ivan, even if he really didn't like anybody (he was over Yao, for obvious reasons).

In truth, Ivan didn't really know _what _he was. He remembered multiple times he'd looked at girls and thought of them as pretty and envisioned pursuing them, too. As he grew older, and met Yao...he noticed doing the same thing with him, too. And other guys, on very rare occasions. He always knew he'd never have a chance with any of them, girl or guy, so he didn't let it overtake his thoughts, though.

But then...when he'd asked Yao out. Though the boy had rejected Ivan harshly, somehow it made him feel—empowered. To be taking control, and making his own decisions for once. And then when he went back to the table—and Alfred was there. Alfred, smiling at him. It had made him feel queasy inside. Not a sick kind of queasy, but—oh God, he didn't know.

"What's he like?"

His mother's question brought Ivan out of his thoughts. He looked up at her, and saw her smiling. Saw them all smiling. It made him feel good.

What's he like. Ivan's next words made him want to gag, but at the same time felt so light on his tongue. "Well...he's got blue eyes, and, like, dirty-blonde hair. And he wears glasses. He's shorter than me. He's really stubborn and kind of hotheaded, but he's a good guy and he has a big heart. He has a little brother. And he always wears either sweatshirts or Marvel t-shirts."

Mrs. Braginsky blinked, rapidly. She had gone stoic-faced for a little bit, but then a small smile crept to her lips. "Oh," she said dumbfoundedly. "He sounds like a nice boy."

"Yeah," Ivan said quietly, eating another bite of food. "He is."

She patted her son's shoulder, a bit awkwardly, and the family just stayed there in silence for a few more moments, until Mrs. Braginsky smacked her lips loudly. "Now. Let's all eat, shall we? Honey, I made a plate for you," she nodded from her husband to his meal on the table.

"Thanks, Magda."

"No problem, dear."

Throughout the whole rest of the meal, Ivan felt so, so awkward. And his heart began to beat like a drum. Why did it beat so loudly? He looked at his family. Nobody stared at him with judgemental eyes; they were all carrying on their own conversations between bites.

Ivan took in a deep breath, and cupped his hands in his face. Indeed, the "boy he liked" he was telling his mom about _was _Alfred. There really wasn't any reason behind it, or so Ivan thought; he just needed a filler character to describe to his mother. But yet...why did thinking about Alfred, and talking about him, make him feel so...good?

Ivan pushed back his plate, and dismissed himself from the table early. He had lost his appetite.

••••••••

Alfred pedaled his bike; faster, faster, faster, allowing a gush of wind to cool his cheeks and blow his sandy hair like mad. He had to hurry to his destination.

Because his destination was Ivan's house.

He'd found the boy's dad online; kind of creepy, sure, but he knew Ivan's dad owned a company—a company whose mission was to help immigrants in the US find jobs with livable wages. Ivan's father was a good man. Ian Braginsky. Ivan Braginsky. It was a dead giveaway.

On the man's website, he'd posted his address, for people to sent him mail and such. Jackpot. Alfred knew that was where he had to go.

During his almost-stalker-level search, Alfred had come across a link to his father's Facebook; curiousity killed his cat, so he clicked on it. Pictures of the man's family. Happy pictures. Pictures of the five of them going to picnics, the beach, church, even dentist's and doctor's appointments. Pictures that made Alfred want to cry. The worst one was a photo of Ivan and his mother Mr. Braginsky had posted; their shoulders were touching, and they were smiling gleefully at the camera; matching smiles. Alfred felt a twang in his heart. _My family can't be like that...because of me. It's only because of me. _He had to choke back a sob.

To rid his mind of his thoughts, he decided to go right away. He made up some petty excuse to his mother, and he speed-walked outside, and hopped on his bike. Only then did he begin to pedal ferociously.

He observed Ivan's house. Fairly big, and old; it had a Victorian-like feel to it. Just the type of home Alfred had expected Ivan to live in. It looked a bit creepy (it probably surely looked frightening in the nighttime). Also like Ivan. Alfred parked his bike in the grass and went up the creaking steps. As he did so, a thin grey cat brushed against his ankle, made bare by cargo shorts. He reached up and tentatively knocked on the door.

Alfred heard footsteps pounding on the other end. When the door croaked open he was greeted by a woman; a decent bit older than his own mother, with shoulder-length blonde hair held back by a headband. She was just a bit rotund, and about the same height as Alfred himself. She instantly smiled. "Hello!" she greeted. "How can I help you?"

"Hey," Alfred said lamely. "Is...Ivan here?" He stumbled a little on the boy's name.

The woman's smile fell, just for an instant, but then returned again, though not as wide, and she didn't show her teeth. "Aw, dear—you just missed him, actually."

"Man, really?" Alfred grumbled, genuinely disappointed. "Where did he go?" He realized too late that that must've sounded a bit creepy.

But the lady just continued to grin. She rubbed the back of her neck. "Oh, he's pretty close by...he's—in the woods, I believe?" she offered lamely. "He's not in a very good mood today. Sorry. He likes to go there when he's upset. I don't think he'll enjoy company while he's there. I'm sorry."

_Oh shit. It's my fault, _Alfred repeated in his head again for about the zillionth time in today alone. He swallowed. "Aw, man, that sucks. Tell him I hope he feels better." He nearly choked out the last sentence. He began to leave, but the lady—who Alfred knew from Mr. Braginsky's Facebook pictures was his wife, and Ivan's mother—stopped him.

"Wait a minute, dear," she called back. "You can come inside, if you'd like. Ivan shouldn't be that much longer. Are you one of his friends? I'd like to get to know you. I'm sure Ivan's sisters would, too."

Ivan's mother's demeanor was so genuinely kind and sweet, Alfred couldn't reject her offer. The smell of the house instantly hit him when he walked in. _Ohhh. _It was an almost woodsy-type of smell; a comforting, homey smell. It was Ivan's smell.

"Sorry for the mess," Mrs. Braginsky apologized, though in truth the home wasn't messy at all. She let him the kitchen, and offered her guest a snack. "Um...sure," he said. Truthfully, his stomach _was _rumbling; and plus, he couldn't say no to her. She seemed like the type of woman who would push and push until he said yes anyway.

Magda glanced over at the boy she'd just entered into her house as she began to press the cookie dough onto the baking sheet. She studied his golden untamed hair, his heavy sweatshirt, his backwards cap, and his expensive sneakers. He didn't look like the type of boy who'd be friends with Ivan—but what did she know? She remembered what her son had told her that morning regarding his "crush": _he's got blue eyes and, like, dirty blonde hair. And he's got glasses. He's shorter than me. _Could this be...? It _must _be him, Magda reasoned. She recalled Ivan saying he was stubborn, and hotheaded. That meant she had to watch out. She didn't want this boy to hurt her baby.

Nevertheless, when the cookies were ready, she served them to him with a smile. He grinned and said "thank you". He had manners. He probably came from a good home, just by judging him by his looks. He seemed well-cared for.

Just then, she saw her youngest daughter Natalya come downstairs, all dressed up in her leotards, with her gym bag in her hands. That's right; she had gymnastics today. It had completely slipped Magda's mind. She glanced from—Alfred? was that his name?—to her daughter, and went up to help Natalya with her things.

"Dear, Papa's going to take you today, alright?" she said, hoisting up her daughter's gym bag so it laid better on her thin shoulder. "He's in the truck waiting. Mama has a guest right now."

"Who is it?" she demanded, trying to peer over her mother's shoulder.

It was the most gorgeous, beautiful, sweat-producing, heart-pounding sight possibly ever. Natalya in leotards. The most revealing piece of clothing Alfred had ever seen her in. Just weeks ago he would have sighed pervertedly just at the prospect. But yet...why did he feel nothing? Why did he just see a pretty girl, and not a future girlfriend? He stared and stared at her, waiting, hoping, for something. Some kind of feeling. But...all he got was a glare—from her.

"Ew, is that _Alfred Jones?" _Natalya screeched, loud enough for the boy in question to hear. "I don't like him! What's he doing here? He's here for Ivan, isn't he?"

"Natalya, that is _beyond rude," _her mother reprimanded. "Go outside, and get in the truck. You are going to be late."

She huffed, ran out the door, and slammed it behind her firmly.

So. Natalya obviously didn't like him back—but yet, Alfred still felt nothing. No disappointment. Nothing. What the heck was wrong with him? He _liked _Natalya! A lot!

"I'm sorry about that," Mrs. Braginsky apologized, walking back to the table, "she's at that age."

"It's 'right," he insisted. "I get it."

She smiled sweetly. "Do you get along with _your _family, Alfred?"

His face faltered. "Well—"

"Mama! I'm having trouble on this problem."

The two looked up to see Katyusha coming into the kitchen, a large textbook pressed against her chest. She seemed surprise that there was company in the house; she gave Alfred a look, a look that suggested he seemed familiar to her. Which was weird because Alfred had never seen this girl in his life. Her eyes grew wide, her mouth slightly agape. She began to muffle a laugh, judging by the looks of it; she clasped her hand over her lips, and set the book down. "Mama," she choked out. "Come here."

Magda followed her daughter into the living room. Once there, the girl bursted out laughing. She giggled so hard she had to hold onto her mother for support.

"Honey," Magda asked, half-chuckling herself, "what is so funny?"

Katyusha tried to catch her breath. "That's—that's the kid that Ivan _likes, _Mama. Remember? From this morning? It _has _to be him!" She let out a small squeal, and wiped a tear.

Magda sighed heavily. "Don't go getting any crazy ideas, Katyusha."

"I'm not!" she denied. "It's just—where even _is _Ivan at?!"

"He's out by the lake," Magda said. "I told the boy he could stay here until he comes back."

This just set Katyusha into another fit of giggles. She held onto her mother for support. Magda sighed. Her eldest daughter was so goofy. "The look on Ivan's _face _when he comes back and sees who's here..."

Her mother smiled. "You need to stop hanging out with Elizabeta, you know that, right?"

Katyusha hiccupped. "I know."

Magda rolled her eyes.

She helped her daughter out with the homework problem she was having trouble on (in the living room, far away from Alfred, of course). Still giggling, she quickly retreated back to her room. Soon, it was just Magda and Alfred again.

There were a few moments of silence, until Magda started up another conversation. As he talked, she found herself thinking: _he's a good boy. _He admitted to when he did wrong, and he had a lovely heart—the mother could tell that.

"It's getting a bit late," Alfred said, puffing out his bottom lip a little bit. He glanced at his wristwatch.

"It is," Magda admitted. She glanced worriedly towards the front door, hand resting on her chin.

Alfred sighed heavily. "I should be heading home." He began to get up.

"Okay," Magda said, smiling. She watched Alfred trot towards the door. "Hey, Alfred?" she called, causing the boy to turn, raising his eyebrows temptingly.

"If you run into Ivan, tell him to come home, okay?"

He pursed his lips, and nodded. "I will." He left.

Magda sighed, pulling her arms to stretch her muscles. She got up, and began to clear Alfred's things: his plate, his empty glass, and his napkins. She cleaned the table.

_He was really a sweet boy, _Magda thought to herself. _I'm glad Ivan likes him. _She sighed again, and spread her arms wide on the table musingly.

_I hope he likes Ivan back. _

••••••••

Ivan stared out into the beautiful, misty lake. He blew out a breath, and bent back to let his hands rest on the log he was sitting on.

Solitude. And bliss. That's what he was feeling right now.

He loved coming to these woods, and sitting by the lake. He'd gone here ever since he was little—when he'd been angry or upset, or had gotten in trouble over mundane, kiddish things, this was always the first place he'd go. Ivan chuckled a bit bitterly. When he was young, little things like his mother putting him in time-out, or having an oatmeal cookie packed into his lunch instead of a chocolate-chip one, were the things that got him going. He realized now that there were bigger, worse problems in the world. Problems that weren't as solvable.

Ivan leaned down to peer into the lake. He glanced at his hazy reflection; hair blown wild from being outdoors, tired violet eyes, chapped lips. He licked them. He was thirsty. _Would it be gross to drink out of the lake? _But it looked so clean and clear—certainly not nasty or dirty...

"Ivan? Is that you?"

The boy jumped and turned at the sound of his name. He turned, and saw a sandy-haired boy, with a hooded sweatshirt and glasses. Alfred. The whole reason Ivan was even there.

Alfred rubbed the back of his neck. "Your mom...said you'd be here. She wants you home, dude."

Ivan looked from his companion, down to his feet, then back up again. "Uh—okay. I'll be there."

The Russian boy expected him to leave right then, but he waited patiently for Ivan to get up. The latter did so, and they began to walk together, a good bit away from each other.

Ivan turned to look at him. "So—you went to my house?"

Alfred gave him a sideways glance. He shrugged a bit, and swallowed; Ivan could see his Adam's apple bobble in his throat as he did so. "Yeah—I...wanted to see you, actually. Just to say hey." His voice cracked a little at the last sentence.

Ivan's ears perked up. "You came to see _me?" _

He saw Alfred's face go pink, and he nodded quite rapidly.

Ivan's heart began to beat faster. "Oh," he said lamely, because he really didn't know what to say.

An awkward silence was held the next few minutes during the walk. That is, until Alfred mumbled something Ivan couldn't hear. He didn't even know it was directed at him until Alfred gave him a questioning glance, eyebrows raised and lips pursed.

"Huh?" Ivan said.

"I said, 'your mom's nice'."

"Yeah, I guess." What was he supposed to say? _Thanks? _

"My mom used to be like her...when I was younger."

"...Hm? Why? What happened between then and now?"

Alfred gulped, and began to chew on a thumbnail. "A lot," he said simply.

Ivan knew what that implied—or, at least, he thought he did. He didn't want to step too deep into personal territory, so he left it at that.

Alfred smiled, a bit devilishly, and chuckled. "Her cookies were good too—again."

Ivan let out a deep laugh. "I knew it!"

Alfred began to hoot along with him. Somehow it sounded so natural. He punched the bigger boy playfully on the shoulder. He leaned to whisper in his ear jokingly, stumbling as if he were drunk. "I ate all of 'em too."

"You did not!"

"Did too!"

"Fucking bastard."

And then the two boys died laughing. Died laughing as if they'd been best friends since kindergarten. Died laughing because it felt so good, because they both had had a long day and needed to get it out. Died laughing because they wanted to.

After a while, the two calmed down, and before they knew it they reached Ivan's house. "Here we are, dude."

"Thank you," Ivan said, grown meek again because they weren't giggling. He turned, and saw that Alfred was watching him, waiting for him to get into his house before he left.

"No problem, man. See you soon." He waved. And he was smiling.

Ivan smiled in return, and closed the door behind.

Heart still pounding, he raced up to his room and closed the door. He removed his gray sweatshirt because he was sweating. He got a sweet feeling in his heart, thinking about Alfred. His smile. His laugh. His little mannerisms, his little tics. The way his hair sometimes brushed close to his eyes, so he had to swoop it back, either with a hand, or a flick of his head. The way he'd been so kind to Ivan.

The Russian boy smiled. He believed he finally made his first friend.

••••••••

**_Sunday_**

Early Sunday evening, Alfred lay flat on his stomach, on his bed. He had out his yearbook, from last year. And, instead of admiring pictures of himself, or candids of him in sports games, he was favoring someone else.

Ivan.

His tiny picture held everything Alfred could possibly dream of. His thick silver hair, his cute smile, and those violet, violet eyes; his shoulders were so wide they took up practically the whole photo.

Alfred Jones had come up with the realization the previous day before.

He was in love with Ivan Braginsky.

And it wasn't just the boy's looks, either. He had a personality that Alfred greatly admired, and envied. He was sweet, and a bit goofy; he was kind and thoughtful; and everything about him was great, and the complete opposite of Alfred himself. _That's what _does _make him great..._

It was crazy to think that just a week ago, he hated Ivan. Not for anything he did, not for anything he said, but just in spite. He recalled the hurt look on Ivan's face everything time he called him a name, spit at him, or pinned him against a wall. He recalled the boy's slumped shoulders, his deep frown, the way he flinched every time he was even near Alfred.

_My God, I'm such an asshole. For doing that to him. _

And he was. Whether he liked to admit it or not, he was. Even though he might've slowly redeemed himself, he was still a dick, and an idiot, for ever causing that much pain to the boy. How did Ivan even sleep at night?? _How do _I _sleep at night? _Alfred glanced down at his own hands.

But. One could always put the past behind them, couldn't they? It doesn't excuse anybody for what they did, but it was worth a shot. Niceness overpowered cruelness. Every time. Alfred realized that now.

And, what better way of killing someone with kindness than...

Alfred blushed immensely, even though he was all alone, and butterflies began to flutter nervously in his stomach. He hurriedly took out a piece of paper, and began to dash yet another note. To Ivan. But this time it had a purpose.

Alfred shot up from his bed, and closed his yearbook. Now—he had to actually get out of the _house. _He was still grounded, so this might be a problem. He already used the pet sitting excuse on Friday, so that was out of the question.

He opened his bedroom door, and began to trek down the steps. He'd just have to improvise. Again.

This time, instead of his mother greeting him downstairs, it was his stepfather. He was sitting on the couch, and Alfred could hear the TV—some stupid talk show, it sounded like. He began to tiptoe quietly. _Now, I wonder if I can just sneak out without him knowing... _

That was a fat chance; as soon as Alfred's hand twisted to turn the doorknob open, Lawrence stopped him. "Alfred," he called. "Is that you? Where are you going?" The boy heard his stepfather's footsteps approaching him. _Oh, shit. _

When he was face to face with Lawrence, Alfred gulped. Caught red-handed. Lawrence crosses his arms over his chest and furrowed his brows. "Didn't your mother ground you?"

Alfred seethed. Lawrence was trying to be his father. Trying to set boundaries. Big ol' Dr. Lawrence Williams thought he was such a good guy, treating his wife's son like he was his own. Hah. That was a joke. His built-up frustration got the better of him, and he gritted his teeth angrily. "You're not my dad," Alfred hissed, "so stop trying to act like it."

Lawrence sighed, and began to massage his temples with his thumb and forefinger. "Alfred, I know you're upset about your dad." His voice took a more softer tone, and he even smiled a bit. "Do you want to sit and talk about him?"

Alfred growled. His father was the last person he wanted to talk about right now. He felt hot tears simmer in his eyes. "No," he hissed.

"Are you sure, bud?" Lawrence asked. "Look, I'm sorry for getting stern with you. Me and your mom, and your brother, we're all—"

"What? Worried about me?" Alfred finished his sentence for him. His tone grew louder. "You know what, I've had it with that bullshit."

"Alfred—"

"SHUT UP!" the boy screamed. "I CAN'T TAKE IT! You guys all hate me! And stop acting like you care, because I know you don't."

Alfred felt a tear slide down his cheek. At this point, he didn't care who saw him crying. His hand felt hot and sticky, still grasping the doorknob firmly. "You know what? I've had it. I'm leaving."

"Al—"

That's all the teen heard before he slammed the door. He dashed out. Lawrence was probably in there, sighing, sighing, and sighing away—complaining again and again but doing nothing to stop his stepson's behavior. That was his wife's job. Alfred couldn't help thinking he was glad his mother was at work today.

Don't think about Mom. Don't think about Lawrence. Don't think about Matthew. Don't even think about Dad.

There was a more important person to think of at the moment.

And his name was Ivan.

••••••••

Not much out-of-the-ordinary was going on in Ivan Braginsky's room that muggy Sunday evening. He was in his room, as normal, sitting at his small wooden desk, as normal, and drawing. Only this time it wasn't his typical sunflower picture—it was a person; athletic build, heavy sweatshirt, sky blue eyes framed by glasses, a silly smirk, thick messy hair. He was just beginning to add color to make that hair golden.

Alfred.

After adding the finishing touches, Ivan pulled back a bit to observe his work. For a person who'd previously decided that he was no good at drawing caricatures, it was pretty nice.

Ivan smiled. He wondered what Alfred would think, if he knew of this picture, or saw it. If he did hate it—well, he'd never have to see it. Ivan would make sure of that.

The boy nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a tap on his window. He got up to go investigate, until he stopped dead in his tracks. That tap. Two harsh ones in a row, and then a softer third one. He'd heard that pattern before...

He went up to press his nose against the window. There, sitting on the branch of a tree, hunched over almost comically, was none other than Alfred Jones. He was smiling, and again he had a piece of paper, a blasted piece of paper in his hands. Fingers trembling, Ivan opened the window slightly, enough for Alfred to slip the note through to him. Then, once again, as quickly as Alfred had been there, he left. He jumped from the large, large tree and ran away like the wind. He moved so fast Ivan was amazed he didn't fall on his face, or break anything.

The Russian boy felt almost ready to faint when he unfolded the note (why did this scene give him a feeling of deja vu?) and read what was written inside this time.

_Ivan, _

_Come over by the skate park, tomorrow before you go to school. Very important. Need to tell you something. _

_Don't rip this note up this time, m'kay? ;)_

_Your buddy Alfred_

He wouldn't. He swore on his life he wouldn't. He would go to the skate park, tomorrow before school, and see Alfred Jones. He wouldn't screw it up this time.

He'd bring the drawing, too.


	8. Revelations

**_Monday_**

With his heart thumping like a drum, Alfred Jones steadily rode on his skateboard. His teeth chattered, for even though the early morning air was crisp, frosty, and cool, he'd traded in his usual casual attire for something more admirable: a prim white button-down short-sleeved shirt; the best pair of blue jean shorts he could find, which came down to his knees; and his black dress shoes, only reserved for special occasions. Because this _was _a special occasion. Today was the big day.

He was sure his hair looked a mess, though, so as he got closer to the skate park he brushed it back with his hands; he tried to tame down his stubborn cowlick but couldn't manage. He growled a bit in frustration. _Agggh... I hate my hair... _Once he saw the park come into view, he straightened his glasses, brushed down his shirt, and slowed his pace.

He parked his board, and wandered around for a bit. At each empty corner that aching feeling in his chest grew deeper and deeper until it reached his groin. He furrowed his brows a bit nervously. _Isn't he coming? _He hung his head in shame, and began to crouch to sit on the ground when—

"Alfred? That you?"

The teen snapped his head toward the voice. He saw Ivan; the boy was crouched down against a ramp, back pressed against it, knees hugging his chest. He was smiling. And waving. And his cheeks were a shade of pink that reminded Alfred of cotton candy.

He looked adorable.

Upon closer inspection, Alfred could see a piece of paper in Ivan's hands, which were trembling a bit. The American boy planted a seat next to his friend, their knees pressed together just slightly. "Hey," Alfred tried to say, but his voice cracked. He cleared his throat, and then tried again. "Hey," he repeated. "What's up?"

"Nothin'," Ivan chirped out, quickly. He hung his head down and played with his fingers a bit.

Wow. This was getting...awkward. _Just say it, _Alfred urged himself, _just tell him! _But he felt that that would make things even _more _awkward. _No...no Alfred. You gotta lay it on slowly. Just start talking casual. _The boy criss-crossed his knees and chewed his bottom lip, searching his fired-up mind for something to say. "Did you have a good morning?" he finally came up with.

Ivan looked at him, flashing his cute little closed-mouth grin. He nodded. As he did so his pink round cheeks bobbled a bit.

_He's like a little kid... _Alfred realized. He smiled back. "That's good."

"What about you?"

Alfred heaved a sigh. "Alright, I guess. Mom and I kinda got in a fight, though."

Ivan's smile dissipated a little. "...Oh? What about?"

The American boy sighed again, curling his knees close to his chest. "I don't know—something stupid. About me coming here." He bowed his head, allowing his deepest thoughts to consume him; they just came out. "I probably disappoint her so much."

He heard the sound of Ivan swallowing. "Why do you say that?" he asked softly.

Alfred shrugged his shoulders in shame. His lower forehead felt light and hazy, the way it did before you began to cry. "Because—" he took a deep breath, "—I don't know. I always get in trouble. I always talk back to her and never do what I'm told. A few days ago I hit her."

Alfred looked up again at Ivan, who was sitting completely still, and whose eyes were wide. Of course they were—the boy would never even think of hitting _his _mother.

Ivan chewed his lip musingly. "That doesn't mean she thinks you're a disappointment," he said quietly.

Alfred felt himself get angry; his face was getting red. "Yeah it does. She hates me. You wouldn't know how that feels," he spat out.

Just a mere week ago Ivan would've cowered in fear at Alfred's harsh tone—knowing what he would be about to get. But there was something else in Alfred's voice. Helplessness. Loneliness. A need for compassion. Alfred was sick of being the bad boy, the one who never got afraid. Because he _was _afraid. And hurt. And self-conscious (Ivan previously would've never believed that in a million years). Ivan did what he thought right—he scooted closer to Alfred, and gingerly put an arm around his shoulder.

The bigger boy swallowed. He really didn't know what to say to comfort Alfred—he wished he'd had more friends. But he tried. "Hey..." Ivan said. He felt Alfred's body relax—was that a good sign?

"You know..." he continued quietly, "sometimes I feel those things about myself, too."

Alfred looked up, tear-stricken and eyes red-rimmed. His baby blues narrowed into slits as he regarded Ivan skeptically. "Really?" He sounded genuinely surprised.

Ivan nodded, and looked down as if ashamed. Alfred put his head down, feeling shame, too. He chuckled bitterly. "I guess that makes both of us, then," he said grimly.

He looked again at the picture in Ivan's hands. Wiping his humiliating tears from his eyes, he pointed at it. "What's that?"

Ivan hunched down a little bit, refusing to make eye contact with Alfred. He bit his lip. "Um..." he mumbled, flustered, face red.

"It's okay, dude," Alfred said gently. He gingerly took the picture from Ivan's hands. What he saw made his heart skip a beat.

It was a drawing of a slender boy with hair so golden it looked dyed, or false; his eyes were a perfect sky blue, hiding behind thin glasses. The boy was winking and smirking charmingly, and the picture was framed by carefully drawn yellow stars.

"Did _you _make this? Is this...supposed to be me?" Alfred could barely find the strength to choke out. Ivan nodded rapidly, face now beet red.

"Ivan, it's—" the American boy was really, truly speechless. For once. He felt honored, and a bit embarrassed. Gingerly he touched his shaggy, messy dirty-blonde hair. Did it really look as gorgeous, as perfectly sunlit golden, as the boy's in the drawing? Were his eyes truly that deep of an ocean blue? They must have been, for that drawing _was of him. _Given to him _by Ivan. _

Alfred could have screamed the joy he felt.

"Wow," Alfred muttered. He touched his lips with the tips of his fingers, and then let his hand rest on his chest in a heartfelt way. His solemn, sad mood had totally been erased. "Thank you! So much! I love this!"

Ivan mumbled something, to which Alfred didn't catch at first. The smaller boy lifted his head. "Mm?" he said, cocking a thin brow.

"Look on the back."

Hands trembling like mad, he did so, most tenderly and gingerly.

In big, bold, red letters, framed by a red heart, was the one phrase Alfred hadn't even known he'd been dying to hear:

**I LOVE YOU, ALFRED JONES**

A gush of wind seemed to steal Alfred's breath right from his lungs. Lips suddenly wet, he looked up at Ivan. Alfred didn't think he'd ever seen anybody's face look so red. Ivan still had his head down slightly, but the smaller boy could see clearly that he was smiling.

Alfred didn't know what to say. What _could _he say? _He stole my thunder, _Alfred couldn't help but think harshly; _he _was the one that was supposed to break the bombshell. But it had been Ivan. Yet—Alfred felt his chest lift, and he replied, in a shaky tone: "I love you, too." His voice didn't even sound like his own—he could feel it.

For some reason Ivan didn't even feel all that shocked—overly happy, yes, and still a bit embarrassed, but not surprised that Alfred liked him back. He resisted the urge to lick his dry lips, feeling that would make him look stupid, and instead pursed his lips tightly and awkwardly rubbed at his nose.

Then—it just happened. Alfred didn't know how; it started with him intensely searching Ivan's face, admiring his beautiful features, until his gaze fixed upon his lips. Then the teen slowly scooched closer to Ivan, until their knees were touching and he could feel how warm the bigger boy's body was. Their faces became closer and closer, and they wordlessly locked lips.

It wasn't anything intense, at all, but fireworks shot up in both of the teens' frantic heads. Mostly the kiss was just experimental—how they liked this feeling, how they liked this new idea. It only lasted for a few seconds until they pulled away slowly, simultaneously.

Alfred was the first one to break the sort of awkward silence; Ivan watched him blink rapidly, cheeks flushed pink. Then he began to chuckle, and smile. As he did so, the sun shone on him in an almost God-like way; the light catching on him made his eyes a lighter blue, and made his teeth glow, and made his hair into a mass of molten gold, as if he were sporting an angel's halo. He looked _beautiful. _Not just handsome, but drop-dead gorgeous.

"Come here, you fucking idiot!" Alfred nearly screamed, catching Ivan off guard. He wrapped his arms around the boy's large chest and buried him in the biggest bear hug he'd ever received. Then once again he smacked him on the lips. Ivan looked up, startled at the harsh words that spewed from Alfred's mouth—but as he looked in his face, he was smiling and laughing like crazy. Was this his way of showing bliss?

"We're such nerds," Alfred said again, quieter this time. He released Ivan from his death grip, but still had his hands around his arms lightly. He looked from Ivan, to the picture, then back again.

The two sat in silence for a minute; it was borderline awkward, but there was something there to make it happy silence. Maybe it was both their smiles, or their jubilant, pink faces, or the way their shoulders and thighs were touching as they sat beside one another.

Eventually, the two got up and began to walk around the skatepark, talking and laughing. They went by the lake, which seemed to be ten times more beautiful and mystical than it naturally was.

After nearly an hour of pure glee, Alfred sadly said that he had to leave. "Goodbye, dude," he told Ivan. He hesitated a bit, before sealing another wet kiss on the Russian boy's round cheek, making him blush. "Today was awesome," he added, almost breathlessly.

Ivan swallowed. He'd had a wonderful morning; his heart was still pounding and his hair was sweaty and sticking up from the rush and excitement. "Me, too," he spat out, before realizing that was an inappropriate answer. Alfred just threw his head back and laughed, while Ivan grew red. "Um, I mean...yeah, today _was _awesome." And it had been.

Alfred smiled one last time, and turned to leave. He grabbed his skateboard and hopped on. Ivan still had one nagging question, though. "Hey, Alfred?"

"Hm?" The boy turned his head, pursing his lips attentively.

Ivan began to twiddle with his thumbs. "Are we...? Does this mean we're...?" He wanted to say _dating, _but only then did he realize that that was probably a stupid question; you just don't _ask _people that. (even if you _did_ lock lips with them like three times that day...)

Alfred, once again, laughed vigorously. "Of course, ding-dong!" he said playfully. Then he turned his head around, shaking it. "God, such a dork. '_Are we dating?'" _But he was smiling. "Hey...Ivan?"

"Yeah?"

"Make sure you get your ass to school today." And with that he took off. Ivan admired the way he rode; he seemed to become one with the wind as he glided by. Ivan saw his caricature of Alfred tucked in the latter's back pocket protectively. This comforted him.

Once the boy was out of view, Ivan took a shaky, deep breath, and held his chin up high. He'd never been in a relationship before. It felt...nice, to be loved and cared about by someone other than his family. Or, at least...Alfred _did _love him, right? The Russian looked down at himself self-consciously. Well...Alfred _did _say he loved him—and boyfriends were _supposed _to love you, right? Wasn't that, like, their job?

Ivan sighed again, and looked down at his attire; gray sweatshirt (mainly to cover his bulk, his stomach and his arms, features of his body he was particularly self-conscious of), baggy jeans, beat-up tennis shoes. He came across as so plain, while Alfred had dressed so nicely. He wondered what the boy thought about him, particularly his looks. To him, Alfred was one of the most beautiful people he'd ever seen. So how could he compare? He gingerly and musingly touched his cheek.

_Well...I mean...Alfred must think I'm pretty great if he wants to date _me... This made Ivan feel better. He hoped he could be good enough for Alfred. He had to be the _best _for Alfred. Better than Kiku. Hell, even better than his own sister possibly could've been. Nothing less than the best would do.

Ivan picked up his book bag, which he'd hidden near a skating ramp. He was going to school, two hours late.

••••••••

**_Wednesday_**

Ivan's head was pressed against a cold locker. He felt numb below his shoulders, though it was a good kind of numb—with only the occasional prickling feeling of butterflies swarming in his stomach interrupting the numbness.

He was waiting for Alfred. The boy's suspension was now over; today he was supposed to come back to school.

Ivan had spent the previous evening with Alfred, and it had been the best in a long time. It had started out awkwardly at first, no doubt, but it had eventually evolved into a very nice, sweet time. Ivan sighed. He hoped their relationship would grow to be like that all the time—minus the awkwardness.

Just when he was about to give up and go to first period, he saw him. Bounding down the long corridor, his cowlick bobbing as he walked. It wasn't long before Alfred's eyes caught on him—once they did, he smiled.

Alfred strutted over towards his locker, where Ivan had been laying his head. He hurriedly opened it, shoved his book bag in there, and got out the stuff he needed. Ivan watched gingerly as he did so.

He then began to walk. Ivan froze, not knowing whether to follow him or what. Alfred quickly snapped his head back, and smiled—oh gosh, that smile.

"What're you doing, doofus? Come on! Don't just stand there."

Ivan was snapped out of his frozen state, and meekly grinned back. He jogged to keep up with Alfred. The way he did so reminded the latter of a cute, innocent puppy, loyal to its owner.

"You're so damn adorable," Alfred muttered. He contemplated reaching out and ruffling his thick hair, but decided against it. He could already feel people staring, harshly and curiously, at him and Ivan.

The two walked in silence for a few moments. Ivan couldn't help but feel so big and gangly next to his small boyfriend. Alfred moved with such confidence, such composure, that Ivan felt awkward and inferior just standing by him. Just mere weeks ago this would have intimidated the hell out of him—but today, he felt admiration for his former bully. Ivan usually kept his shoulders slumped and his chin down when he walked—a bad habit—but today he felt confident enough to stand tall like Alfred, so he did so.

Alfred felt surprised when he felt his hand being grasped—when he glanced up he saw Ivan smiling at him. He then looked back down at their hands, which were now intertwined. He gazed around the hallway self-consciously, and looked at...the stares. Alfred knew what they were all thinking—shock, and maybe asking themselves if this were a joke. Alfred Jones? And _Ivan Braginsky? _The kid he'd been picking on since grade school? Holding hands in the hallways. Some faces he recognized, but most he didn't. He saw Gilbert—scowling. He saw Antonio—mouth agape, he looked dumbfounded. Yao—the Chinese boy was biting hard on his lip, twirling his ponytail with his fingers, with cuts on his face; the cuts Alfred had given him. And his nose looked lopsided too. Good grief. And finally—Kiku. Alfred had to hold his breath as he looked at him, the way a person would respectfully hold their breath as they were driving past a cemetery. But to his surprise, the small boy was smiling. Brown eyes big and wide, he flashed the two a slight, closed-lip grin as they walked by. Was this Kiku's way of calling a truce? Of saying he was glad that his ex had moved on? Alfred didn't know, but when he looked once more at Ivan he was reminded that the past was the past—and the only place to look was to the future.

Alfred turned his head—and faced forward. Forgetting the stares, forgetting what people thought, for perhaps the first time in his life. All that mattered in the end was his happiness—he knew that now. Because without happiness, nothing else would follow. He was happy. He was happy with Ivan. And no one was going to take that from him—he would make sure of it.

••••••••

**_Epilogue_**

Alfred set his tray down at the table that started it all. Across from Ivan, of course. No conversation was held for the first few moments—but that was okay. He felt content just being with the Russian boy, to feel his presence.

Their relationship had evolved a lot since those first few days, for the better. They told each other everything now; all their hopes and aspirations, all their dreams and goals, all their problems and issues. Nothing was a secret between them anymore.

Alfred's friends had eventually even grown to accept Ivan a bit. Though they were all on good terms once again, at lunch, Alfred still chose to sit with Ivan. Each and every day.

"Ivan?"

The teen gazed his head up, his beautiful violet eyes meeting Alfred's blue ones.

"You haven't said you loved me today yet."

Ivan smiled. "I love you."

Alfred grinned in return. "There we go."

Ivan giggled at his boyfriend's silliness, a giggle that made Alfred's heart drop, made his legs go weak.

It was crazy to think that their sitting at lunch together had started out as a punishment. A _punishment. _Alfred couldn't believe that now. He couldn't believe that there had actually been a time where he couldn't stand to be in Ivan's presence. He remembered jumping up out of his seat, on that day of the fight, and arguing with Mr. Green. Calling Ivan a loser. He remembered hating that first day at lunch. He remembered wanting to run from this very table as fast as he could, and just leave, because he couldn't stand Ivan.

Not too long ago, Alfred had had regrets about choosing the lunch punishment over the suspension. Now he had no doubts. Looking at Ivan's round face, his big eyes, his waved hair, and his stylishly long nose reminded him that he'd made the right choice. For once in his life he didn't make a mistake.

"I love you," Alfred said quietly.

Ivan looked up again, and grinned meekly. "You've already said that today."

Alfred smirked. "I know. Just wanted to make sure you heard me."

Ivan snorted. "Weirdo."

_"I'm _the weirdo, huh?" Alfred chuckled, reaching over to hit Ivan on the shoulder playfully. The two shared a good laugh.

Alfred sat back down and sighed. Yes, he'd made the right choice. He was happier than he'd ever been.

Even things that didn't glitter were gold.

**_~The End~_**

**••••••••**

**Soooo...there it is! The end of the fricking story—FINALLY. **

**Honestly, I'm so glad I'm done with it now. Don't get me wrong, I loved writing this story. But to be honest I've had bad writer's block for the past couple weeks—every few days I would only write like a couple paragraphs of the story. This made me feel awful, one because in the beginning I would write new chapters every few days. I dunno. The later chapters _were _longer, though, so I guess that's my excuse, right?... **

**Another thing, sorry if the scene with Alfred and Ivan at the skate park was kinda...I dunno. Forced, I guess. I didn't mean for it to be like that. Very rarely do I write romantic scenes like that, and I kinda suck at it, so oh well. I do like the epilogue though. Cute little Ivan :) **

**Hopefully now that this story's over with, I can take a short break and focus on other things. Thank you all so much for being supportive. I've gotten extremely good feedback on this story and honestly I'm super surprised at that. I didn't expect this story to be so well-liked. Again, thank you for being supportive and enjoying my content—it really lifts me up. I might write some more RusAme in the future, who knows :) **

**Farewell! Have a WONDERFUL day! :) **


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